


Do you feel it?

by RickishMorty



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Citadel of Ricks, Depression, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Incest, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Domestic Abuse, Possessive Rick, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rick Being an Asshole, Secrets, Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 14:04:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 75,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19200376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RickishMorty/pseuds/RickishMorty
Summary: Here was the difference between the two of them: when Morty assumed awareness, he could only be crushed, whether he rebelled, or surrendered. Rick was different. He was perpetually aware and able to decide the fate of the cosmos. So why did that knowledge make him drink so as not to think? Not to think that perhaps he too, after all, was helpless in the face of that awareness. That nothing mattered, nothing was special, everything was random; not significant.A very angst slowburn where Rick has unspeakable secrets, which will change things between him and Morty forever. Meanwhile, someone conspires against them in the shadows.





	1. Come and watch TV.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm an italian writer and i discovered this site (in italian i post on EFP) because the fandom in my country is very little. I'm glad to discover so many good authors and i'm trying to put a little bit of mine inside the fandom. Sorry for my english, i hope is not so rusty as it sounds to me.  
> I hope inspiration will not abandon me because i have a lot of ideas for this work and in my mind i have stuff for so many chapters.  
> I want to thanks bloodrunsred that offers to edit it for me! Her works are beautiful to me and she and SnowAndRayne are the authors that i follow the most, so it was a honor!
> 
> Enjoy your reading, i'm looking forward to see what you think about it!

Bolt. Screwdriver. Fixing. Laser.

Again, from the beginning.

Bolt. Screwdriver. Fixing. Laser.

He had forgotten how boring and repetitive it was to change  items and look for objects every time he needed something . Morty usually passed hings to him when he asked, but Beth had been crystal clear this time: he was risking at school ,he had to brought his grades back from the brink of death.  Suspended adventures.

Rick sighed, his eyelids at half mast, his mouth stretched in an intolerant expressionof arrogant sufficiency. He could bring Summer. But it wasn’t  the same. He had tried.

He stared at the worktop with his screwdriver in his hand. If he wanted, he could also have invented something that could pass the tools to him Actually, he had it, the little butter robot.

He had tried.

But it wasn’t  the same.

He belched, releasing his grip on the object.

 

*

 

Morty startled rom his sleep as he heard the recreation bell.

"Oh, finally awake. Whether there you are or not the lessons changes very little, actually," said Mr. Goldenfold.

"Yeah, sorry ..." piped Morty, visibly uncomfortable, his cheeks burning a bright red from embarrassment.  The class stood up, laughing and going outside. Morty looked at Jessica, who returned his awkard stare She  wasn't laughing. Small consolation.

Lunch  was made up of fish sticks with a side of mashed potatoes, which Morty was eating alone: Rick often teased him, telling him that even if he had eaten all the ocean fauna it still wouldn’t have made a difference to his stupid ass. There was no amount of selenium  that could save him from his own idiocy. Morty discovered the insult association on the internet and from then on began eating more fish. You never knew: Rick was always too pessimistic.

  Something cold and slimy gripped Morty’s face in a mellow embrace. His breathing ceased, oxygen getting caught in his lungs as he struggled to see. He tried to move away from the table, pounding his fists  against the wood: he wasn't breathing anymore, he couldn't move, he didn't ...

Finally he felt the grip  in his hair, that he had hardly noticed before, give way, breathing in a huge breath: in his mouth he tasted the prepackaged purée, spread all over his face. Behind him, Tony, surrounded by a small group laughing with him. Morty removed the mash from his eyes to see better.

"Smith, how come you spend all this time at school? Is the old fool dead?" So much laughter, from everyone. Morty was completely impasted,  but he still managed to see in the back of the cafeteria, behind Tony. Summer was staring  at the scene.

"N-no, I ... w-what d..."

"W-w-w-what d-d-do you want?" Tony said to him, exasperating his stutter.

Morty turned, trying to get up, but the bully crushed him against the table, taking his breath away.

"Come on, tell the truth, it's cracked in one of those holes made of green shit, isn't it? Or did he give you up too?”Morty also saw Jessica, who was watching  and frowning. The boy took courage, and pushed him away, or at least he tried. A punch caught him in the face,  forcing him to the ground. Tears stung his eyes from the pain, as well as the laughter from everyone that surrounded him. 

"Uh, you have to have too many bumps on your head..."

"Y-you, who wouldn't last a minute in those portals.” The laughter quieted, uncertain, and the students turned their eyes to Tony.

The bully gritted his teeth, taking him by the shirt and lifting him from the ground, ready for another punch. Morty covered himself with his hands, narrowing his eyes.

The blow didn’t  come. Summer had locked Tony's arm, right at the sound of the class bell. The two stared at each other. Morty’s sister had a hard look, very clear and unmistakable: that was enough.

Tony stared , looking her up and down and struggling, dropping  Morty to collapse on the floor: "Family of losers..." Summer had an imperceptible look of hurt at the insult, which contained the word she most feared and hated

The crowd disappeared, each spectator headed for his respective classroom. Morty rose from the ground, rubbing his struck cheek, smiling at his sister: "T-thanks Sum..."

"You should stop making people pity you, Morty." That point-blank phrase was worse than Tony's punch. Morty was astonished, motionless. Summer turned to him and could see contempt in her eyes: "Do you want to be like daddy? Do you want to keep others close to you just because they pity you?"

Summer didn't say anything else, turning on her heels, leaving him there on the floor and watching her leave. The silence of the cafeteria made that phrase ring out, which he would have gladly exchanged with another punch.

...

Rick was finishing up the last sip of his faithful flask; shit, he had to make one that re-filled itself  every time he emptied it.

Well, why not do it now?

"Hey, Rick"

Rick didn't turn around, engaged in a calculation to see if it was possible to apply a teleporter to the bottom of the flask, connected directly to his favorite whiskey factory.

"Hey, M-Morty. Have you already taken a six or a seven so we can doooOoOO away with this interdimensional curfew antics? I already beeeurroke my balls of being segregated in this garage because of your failures, l-lil’ dipshit .”

Morty didn't answer. He hadn't even entered the garage completely.

"Rick... Is there an alternate dimension where I’m -I’m not ... like this?"

"Mh?" Rick wasn't sure he understood what his grandson had told him. And Rick hated not being sure he understood things. "What the fuck are y-you talking about, Morty?" Rick finally turned to look at him, noticing a beginning of black eye. His eyes narrowed; his stomach twisted just like it had with King Jellybean, when Morty had finally left the bathroom. 

"I-I just want to know if we Morties are all like this, or if there is s-someone who is maybe, y’know…  a little b-bit different?"

Morty shuffled into the garage, his left hand scraping at his right arm in a nervous tick. He was looking down, as though ashamed to be in Rick’s presence. Rick stared at him, beginning to understand: he had a stomach cramp. He was definitely too sober.

"Explain yourself. Formulate better. What do you mean _like this_?"Rick had no particular inflection in his voice, not annoyed or worried. At most it was a curiosity of a scientist that seemed to move him. Yes, It was scientific curiosity. What else could it be?

Morty swallowed, looking at him: "Well... l-like… _this_ _.”_ Morty seemed to define himself, with a self-pity that was pathetic for an underlying helpless awareness. Unarmed, in front of everything. Here was the difference between the two of them: when Morty assumed awareness, he could only be crushed, whether he rebelled, or surrendered. Rick was different. He was perpetually aware and able to decide the fate of the cosmos. So why did that knowledge make him drink so as not to think? Not to think that perhaps he too, after all, was helpless in the face of that awareness. That nothing mattered, nothing was special, everything was random; not significant.

Morty went on, unaware of Rick’s thoughts: "Maybe there is s-some Morty that looks less like d-dad  and more like mom."

"More like  me, you mean." Rick stood up, walking over and crossing his arms. It wasn’t  a question. It was a statement.

Morty looked up, unable to look into his eyes because of their height difference and considered that question.

No.

Not like him.

"N-no..." Rick raised his eyebrow inquisitively. "Just less i-insec... pitiful.”

The two remained silent. Morty hated that look: he felt like a guinea pig, an experiment to probe at his brain lines. Some Rick must have already done it, after all, to discover what made them a cloak, a human shield . It wasn't that look he wanted ... it was reassurance, an understanding, but he was asking the wrong man: Rick was not able to feel empathy for the feeling of inferiority; he didn't possess it. Perhaps it was the only thing in the universe that he didn't know. It was then that Morty, besides being pitiful, felt stupid, again. That was Rick's look: contempt for a stupid person. The instinct to escape grew in the boy like a weed , before Rick bent over on his knees, looking more closely at that black eye.

"If there is, most likely in that dimension you and I would have nothing to do with each other. That's not how it works between  Ricks and the Morties . "

...

What the fuck did he mean? What the fuck was that answer?

Morty wasn't stupid. He was a fucking idiot if he expected something different from Rick, the moment he showed him his side, asking him ...

What? What did he want from him?

Morty stepped back, pursing his lips. He had a look of defiance that Rick had seen only when he  had discovered he was a human shield, but more adult, though veiled by tears even now: "Because you need us stupid, right?"

Rick remained silent, narrowing his eyes _: an arrogant Morty could be a problem for everyone_. He remembered telling him that long ago. He was responding too much lately. He was becoming a little too perceptive.

_A little too much like you?_

The two were interrupted by Beth, who entered the garage, unaware of the chill between them. Rick immediately concealed, with a smile dedicated to his daughter. He often did this game with Beth; to be a good boy for always having won.

"Dinner is ready, boys!" She said with a radiant smile to his father; it has to be a good day. Or at least that's what Morty believed: "After that Morty immediately go to sleep, so tomorrow you'll have no problem staying awake in class: your professor called me."

A malevolent smile curled the lips of Rick, who was enjoying the scolding. Morty sighed, turning toward the door and past his mother. Rick felt his daughter briefly worry about his nephew's black eye; he pressed the button of the garage door, closing it.

 

It was an extremely quiet dinner. At least for Rick and Morty. Summer instead spoke all the time: it was because she wanted to avoid focusing attention on her brother's black eye or because she felt guilty about what she had said to Morty, it was not known. Probably the first one. Better. Neither Morty want to talk about it, to tell the truth; he was more voluntarily and deliberately ignoring Rick, who apparently was doing the same. Oh God, not that it was voluntarily, it was natural for the scientist to ignore him; he didn't have to make any effort.

But Rick didn't need to look directly at Morty to see with the corner of his eye the hand of the boy resting on his chubby cheek, his eyes frowning; he saw him share his scallops with a fork, without eating them. He, on his own, was enjoying them fully instead. Screw him, if he wanted his ass to be gnawed, it wasn't his problem. Make the victim, that shit; a common denominator of all Mortys: to be victims, prey, shoulders, assistants.

 _Slaves_.

A small voice in his head suggested that word, powerfully. Rick knew it wasn't bullshit: his subconscious gave birth to it, which had to be just as brilliant.

It was also true that his logical intelligence was superior to anyone in any fucking universe, but his emotional intelligence was ... well, let's say he didn't apply particularly. He and Morty were autistic in two different ways: the idiocy and the deep sensitivity of his nephew left him torn most of the times when they returned from an adventure where the irreparable happened. The mind-blowers were proof of this. He was also too vulnerable, that kid. And Rick hated weakness.

The sound of Morty's chair interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm going to do math," he said colorlessly, turning his heels to go upstairs.

"Ok, Morty. Dad, can't you give him a hand, so he goes to bed earlier? "Beth said, using with pleasure an excuse like so many to communicate with her father.

Rick opened his mouth for a timely vitriolic response, but Morty was faster.

"There is no need, I do it alone."

Rick looked at Beth, shrugging, brazenly uninterested; even the daughter for her part quickly forgot, finishing the bottle of wine that was on the table, hastily babbling that she had to go out. In addition to that, Rick did not miss even the look of Summer that followed Morty down the stairs, serious and inquiring.

_Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, Everybody’s gonna die. Come and watch TV._

_You are as dumb as I am smart._

The numbers on the sheet made no sense. Or maybe it was the only thing that still had it, only he couldn't catch it. Maybe this is why Rick had become a scientist: mathematics does not lie and is concrete. One plus one makes two, end of the story. Or not? Maybe there was a reality where it wasn't like that. Maybe there was also a reality in which he hadn't heard those sentences and was just a normal kid; a loser, yes, a disadvantaged, but fundamentally normal, aware only of the fact that life was life, not an immense spiral without any sense or direction.

He threw his pen against the wall, hitting the lamp and taking his head in his hands.

_Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, Everybody’s gonna die. Come and watch TV._

That's enough.

_Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, Everybody’s gonna die. Come and watch TV._

THAT'S ENOUGH.

"What fucking problem do you have?" Rick was leaning against the door frame, staring at him with crossed arms, low eyelids.

"Apart from that I am retarded, useless, interchangeable and of little relevance as everything that exists outside of me? Nothing, it's all fucking perfect, thanks for asking. "Morty didn't even look at him, bent over his desk, refocusing on his homeworks.

Rick rolled his eyes, entering the room.

"Whatever ... but this curfew for me is over, come on, I need something" he took Morty's arm, lifting him from the chair.

"What... n-no!" Morty struggled, sitting back, tearing his arm from his grip.

Rick turned predatory; never take something from his hands that he considered, nay, WAS his. He grabbed him again, raising him to his feet, squeezing the soft flesh so tightly and twisting his arm in a corner that was almost unnatural, close to breaking it. Morty let out a groan of pain, bringing his hand over Rick's, slipping over it in an attempt to get rid of it. Immediately his eyes became clear, his breathing quicker: he looked at him with a prayer in his eyes, angry and imploring at the same time.

"N-no! Rick ... y-you’re hurting me! Leave me! P-please! ”Morty bit his tongue, closing his eyes in pain. He hated praying to him, it wasn't fair. Why was he always pushing him up to that point ...?

Rick dragged him out of the room and his grip was iron, there was no way to break free; Morty pointed his feet, still trying to lift his clenched fingers around his wrist, which was beginning to throb as it was tight. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

Rick looked straight ahead, regardless of Morty's prayers; he didn't want to look at him anyway. His tears distracted him from the journey he had in his head for hours now. His moans, however, could still be heard, mixed with quick breathing; if he closed his eyes he could almost mistake them for...

He felt his shoulder give way and turned to Morty: the boy had thrown himself to the ground, putting his whole body and weight (scarce) in a stubborn protest. Rick gritted his teeth: he would pay for it. He would have fucking paid for it. He yanked it violently and Morty exploded into another scream, biting his lips; he didn't want to give him satisfaction. Rick, on the other hand, was so close to getting his shoulder out. Morty had to understand him: he was nothing compared to him, he could do nothing. Why the fuck couldn't he just be dominated, submissive, totally helpless in front of him? It was, he just had to take note.

_And would you like it anyway?_

That was just another Rick and Morty fight. Rick and Morty forever. Should it have been like this forever?

Why couldn't Rick simply understand when he needed to be alone, to be listened to, helped? Why couldn't he even help him when he asked so clearly?

What stupid questions.

Morty stopped beating, crying and shouting: he let himself go, interrupting any resistance and looking empty in front of him.

Rick couldn't help anyone.

The scientist turned to look at him, furious, but he also seemed to be stuck at the sight of Morty.

Rick couldn't even help himself.

The two remained fixed, immobile, looking at each other.

Truce.

 

"If you stop doing all this mess, I'd like to enjoy my season finale." Summer watched them from her bedroom door, arms crossed. She was Rick's worthy granddaughter; their attitudes were often frighteningly similar. The situation became dramatically comic: they were nailed in the corridor like two idiots, under the bleak gaze of Summer.

Rick was not comfortable in the part of the idiot: he let go of Morty, driving his arm out of his grip.

"Screw you" he muttered, coming down the stairs, probably headed for the garage.

Morty stood up, rubbing his shoulder and turning to Summer, finding a door slammed in his face.

The sound of the spaceship coming out of the garage, directed somewhere, invaded the corridor.

Morty found himself alone, with the muffled sound of Summer's TV that always reminded him of the same phrase that now he wanted to receive instead of saying.

 

_Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, Everybody’s gonna die. Come and watch TV._

 


	2. Nothing

The moans were becoming more and more frequent, rising in volume and intensity. That  room was hot, too hot  and sweat dripped from the blue skin of the alien above him.

The woman's green hair was uncombed; her three breasts kept bouncing with every movement.

Rick watched the scene, almost like a spectator. His mouth was bent downwards, his eyelids drooping over disinterested, distant eyes. He was annoyed. It was his classic bored and tired expression.

Lying on that bed, he felt the beautiful alien move over him, straddling his pelvis, which kept his cock in and out of her extraterrestrial cunt. Anyone would have experienced it as an extraordinary moment, getting lost in observing the streaks of blue skin. That race had a peculiarity: the closer they where to orgasm, the more the skin shone, almost like a lapis lazuli. The alien had to be very close.

Rick narrowed his eyes, shielding himself with his hand: as she reached orgasm the woman lit up like a diamond struck by the sun, almost blinding  him.

The moans quieted, fading into deep breaths; the woman lowered her back, resting her thick green hair on Rick's chest. But the man moved her, making her fall next to him. He lied down, with his erection now free; he was not the least bit close to orgasm, and was still hard.

He didn't care about the psychological disturbances that could arise from sexual positions: he didn't need to feel superior fucking his partners doggy style  or making them submit  in other ways; he was already superior to them, though they rode him. Of course, he found it much more horny to be in a dominant position, but it was different from having power.  Power was psychological and there was no way that he felt inferior or submissive to anyone. Sometimes he wondered how that could be, but being alpha in everything made the experience impossible to understand and, at times, even undesirable.

He felt the alien's hand tighten around his cock as she positioned herself down between his legs: her three breasts rubbed against his still hard erection; her mouth approached the tip of his cock, still wet with her liquids. Rick stopped her before she could get to lick him with her mouth, taking her hair and moving her back to the side.

Rick closed his eyes, bringing forefinger and thumb to rub them, sighing through his closed mouth. The alien looked at him , worried, not understanding what she had done wrong or what she could do to remedy  the situation. The truth was that she was scared. Concerned.

"Is something wrong, Rick Sanchez?" She ventured.

_Yeah what's wrong, Rick?_

Rick opened his eyes, staring back at the ceiling.

That pussy. That fucking victim, whining and pedantic like a pain in the ass.

I am useless, interchangeable, retarded, boo-hoo Yes, yes. You are. Do you want to keep complaining or do something about it ?

_Like accept it?_

It was a continuous lament, although he had done everything to meet him: he had respected the curfew, he had gone to ask him how he was, he would even have taken him on a secret adventure to distract him. What the fuck did he have?

_Maybe he tried to tell you, but you don't give a fuck._

Exactly, so what?

_And so maybe now you feel guilty._

Okay, his conscience was either way too  serious or was becoming a pussy like Morty.

Rick grunted, pulling his body up. That sexual encounter was over for him. Even his cock agreed, now at rest.

He put on his coat, looking for his boxers around. Where the fuck were they? On the way he found his flask, shaking it: empty. If it hadn't been for Morty he would have finished building the self-filling one. Damn brat.

"Can I ... can I do something?" Piped the alien.

Rick rolled his eyes, before turning around abruptly: "Yes, you can give me m-my fu _beeeurp_ fucking clothes so I can leave."

The alien retreated, curling up on herself: she trembled and her eyes quickly became shining as she changed color.

"F-forgive me ..." she said softly, in a ringing voice.

Rick frowned, looking at her with a strange interest: the skin of the woman had turned yellow, colored with fear. It was a bright yellow, almost ... ridiculous. He found himself staring at her, without explaining the reason. His cock soared upward again, suddenly. Rick turned, walking back toward the girl; the eyes of a predator.

 

Morty was in front of the garage door. He had his backpack on his shoulders, ready for school. He rocked on his heels, with his hand  hovering in mid-air to knock, before he, last, brought it down, scratching his belly.

Why did he have to look for him?

It was like saying that Rick was always right, always, anyway.

_Exactly_.

Often even Morty didn't know what the right or wrong thing was. It appeared labile and, above all, relative. This fact of the relativity was the worst discovery he could have made on his travels with Rick. In getting to know Rick, in general. If something was important, it wasn't really said to be; nor that it was true, or false, or right, or wrong, or even real. Morty pinched his stomach. It was real, wasn't it? He was real, wasn't he? There were so many scenarios in his mind: he could be an android, a clone, a new ... a new Mor-

"Ah!" Morty let go of his belly; without realizing it he had begun to tighten  his grip more and more, until he felt a jolt of pain. He raised his shirt: the skin was red and the marks of his nails evident. But the boy seemed to have the right charge to look ahead and knock; he felt lighter.

"R-Rick?"

No reply. Not even a burp. Well, that was to be expected. Morty had already known that Rick would make him pay for being a brat earlier. Morty sighed, unable to open the door.

"L-listen, Ric k ... I-I... sorry, it's a p-period that I know—I'm nervous and I have a little bit too many  t-thoughts, I ... I realize that. I'm sorry I answered you in that way ye-yesterday."

Nothing. He had to be angry. Or was he drunk and sleeping?

"Rick ... could you… would you like to take me to school today ? I can even skip it if you want. Rick? "

Morty lowered the door handle, peering inside with his head poking through the doorway. He frowned when he saw the empty work table. He went inside, keeping his characteristic caution in moving, realizing that not only wasy Rick missing , but also the spaceship. The garage seemed so unrealistically empty and silent without those two presences. It just looked like… a garage .

Morty found himself staring at the puddle of oil where the spaceship usually stood, blankly.

He  heard Summer's voice coming out of the house, slamming the door, and he returned to the present. He looked up, leaving the garage to go to school.

He had never, ever, missed adventures so much before.

Tony seemed to have calmed down. Or at least he had turned  his anger elsewhere and not to Summer’s brother. It’s a pity that , when he passed her through the corridors , he gave her a murderous look.

Summer was distracted from her thoughts, receiving another message on her cell phone, which made the table in the cafeteria tremble. Her fingers moved in response, when "Pussy" appeared on the display  screen. Summer frowned before looking ahead, peering into the cafeteria for a familiar face: and, bingo . She was sitting just behind Morty, few tables lower. He  smiled uncertainly, with a hand that timidly rose upwards. Summer looked around nervously before shaking her head, as if to ask him "What the fuck do you want, jerk-off?" Yes, that was the look.

Morty resumed tapping at the screen of his phone and Summer let her face fall into the palm of her hand,  looking up at the sky. She looked resignedly at the screen, waiting for a message.

"Do you know where Rick  is?"

Summer didn't even bother to answer, simply shrugging carelessly, looking at her brother. Morty resumed writing, biting his lip.

"Do you know if he told mom when he was coming back? "

Summer spread her arms impatiently, as if to say that she knew absolutely nothing. At that gesture his brother stopped smiling, looking at her without really seeing her; his eyes were lost, absorbed, his lips were a thin line. Summer felt something move in the pit of her stomach; Morty was so close. Why couldn't she just get up and get to him? Especially now that he had that expression.

Yeah. Why  not?

Maybe because she was like Beth and Rick. And Morty was much more like Jerry.

Summer felt the feeling in her stomach sharpen before a friend of hers brought her back to the world, showing her the last Instagram story of Aaron McCarney training in the pool. Even Summer, however, didn't really  see the phone in front of her.

 

Morty was in the garden, just outside  the front door. He was sitting on the grass and kept passing a tennis ball, lost in his thoughts, from hand to hand.

Where was Rick?

He had been gone for two days. Ok, it happened that he stayed out for a night. Very often, actually.

But by the  next morning he was  normally on the couch, busy burping or vomiting in a devastating hangover, which Morty could now handle, unless he degraded to violent intoxication in which he had seen Rick's scarier sides emerge. But at least he was there. He was present.

Morty cursed himself, even though he didn't think it was right. Why had he irritated him so much? He had made him escape. Wait, no; Rick didn't run away. He just went away.

_Forever_.

Morty felt a cold shiver down his spine and the ball stopped.

Was that what it meant to be like his mother? Being forever afraid of waking up and not never seeing Rick again? Morty's stomach tangled, with a sense of loss, but also of disgust. Towards his mother, so weak and dominated by her father, but also towards himself.

Just before Rick had turned  himself over to the Intergalactic Government, Morty had stopped him: he remembered perfectly what he had told him. Mom can't live without you, I can.

_I can._

So why  was there this feeling of emptiness?

Morty's heart tightened as the chills increased. His eyes became bright in an instant.

He tried to imagine his life without Rick, that he never came back, that he could finally have a normal life. At school without problems, in an attempt to integrate easier, no more alarms during the night, no more wounds from monstrous mutants, no more crimes, insults, lies, nothing more...

Anything.

An empty, gigantic nothing. Nothingness.

Morty began to breathe quickly, unnaturally. His hands went up to his face, to tug at his hair, in an attempt to distract himself with pain.

A black hole. Nothingness. The void. Death . The absolute and monumental senselessness of the Universe and everything beyond it. And that was nothing.

_He was nothing._

That was what came to his mind after years of abuse and a suffocating presence that was his only guide , and what was almost  similar to someone who held him in some esteem. And now, after years, it was impossible to see anything else after that preponderant drug. It was so mixed with his blood by now. Rick was everywhere in him; in his body, that he had manipulated as if it were one of his many experiments, and in his head, completely addicted and sick so as not to see any other possibility of existence.

Morty Smith was nothing without Rick Sanchez.

He was alone.

Morty was hyperventilating, his hands clenched around strands of hair  and his eyes wide open from which tears flowed. His teeth clenched, his head went back and forth, his knees came closer to his chest. A muffled and acute whine tried to free itself from his throat, but nothing could enter or leave, not even the air.

_ Alonewronguselesssenselessinacoldemptyandsilentuniverseforever. _

Morty screamed, screamed so loudly that he felt like he had turn out his throat.

A roar, sudden and bombastic, covered his scream and any other noise around. A metallic and explosive sound that forced the boy to look up at the sky, covered by a large black disk that had obscured the sun. Morty knew that sound and that silhouette by heart.

Rick's spaceship sank into the grass, the breeze ruffling Morty's hair, making him shiver from the cool wind that came in contact with his sweaty skin.

The spaceship landed and silence rung through the air.. 

Morty felt like he couldn’t breathe. His eyes were fixed on the door.

The door opened and the familiar sound of dozens of empty bottles falling to the ground reached his ears.

An even more familiar grunt stopped his heartbeats.

"Uhnn ..."

A long leg, which looked almost like that of a giant spider, came down from the spaceship, setting  a foot on the ground. Rick's white coat fluttered in the air, anticipating his descent.

Rick Sanchez was in  the midst of a fucking hangover; his hair was unkempt, strange stains on his coat and the dribble that came out of his mouth looked even more acid than usual.

Morty remained on the ground until Rick noticed his presence.

The scientist stared at him; half-closed eyes and lips t stretched in a pained and contemptuous grimace at the same time.

"Ah, there  you - beeeurp - are..."

Rick stretched, before rubbing his eyes with one hand. The sun bothered him. Anything seemed to bother  him.

He walked over to Morty, who was staring at him with wide eyes and a strange expression on his face. Rick raised an eyebrow inquisitively. He almost looked like a child meeting Santa Claus.

Rick arrived in front of him, covering the sun again, almost surrounding him, despite his lanky stature.

He wiped the drool with the sleeve of his coat as he narrowed his eyes: he had blurred vision and could not understand. Did Morty have wet cheeks? Was  he crying?

"What's up now, Mor-"

Rick felt a tightness to his waist and a warm feeling in his belly.

He spread his arms and looked down, seeing some brown hair streaked with a lovely honey colour that was resting on his dirty and smelly shirt, regardless of both the  things.

Morty was holding him tight, strong .

_It’s called a “hug”._  

Rick could feel the tears on the boy's cheeks wetting his shirt, but it wasn't important at that moment. What he felt was simply the urgency of that contact. The desperation of that contact. The need.

Something twisted inside him; a strange mix between his ego delighted by that attention and that admission of guilt by Morty. A grin almost moved his lips.

"Sorry”.

The other feeling was an unpleasant awareness of having won again without deserving anything.

"S-sorry, Rick ... please. Please…"

Rick lowered a hand on the boy's back, which almost seemed to get a jolt. His long pale fingers moved slightly on Morty's ridiculous yellow t-shirt, in something that , more than a caress , was a _tasting_. Check ing that one of his things was as he  had left it.

"What, Morty?"

Morty looked up at the man and Rick had no more doubts: yes, he was crying. His big eyes stared at him desperately. Rick looked back, not giving him any other emotion.

Morty bit his lip, as if what he was about to say was costing him more than Rick could understand and imagine.

"Don’t leave".

Rick put his hand up  to rest on the boy's hair, feeling wet. He was sweating more than the temperature of the day justified. He stroked the strand innocently, or so he wanted Morty to believe. 

That was the only time that Morty felt more like Beth than Jerry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to following me and sorry for the slow update!
> 
> I really hope you're starting to enjoy the story, i have a lot of plan for it!
> 
> Thanks again to bloodrunsred for the editing of the work, i really appreciate it!


	3. Strange and different

 

He was strange. Morty was damn strange.

Well, her brother was strange by default, but in this case he was ... annoyingly helpful. Summer followed him with her eyes as he set the table, and he was definitely more diligent than usual: there were even coasters. Ok, they helped at home, in general. But there was something unusual about the way he had been behaving in the last few days.

Rick fumbled with a screwdriver on a flask, disinterested. Beth, on the other hand, was seasoning the salad. When she saw Morty come out of the kitchen with the ice bucket for white wine, Summer couldn't stop herself: "What the fuck ...".

Rick looked up at last: he seemed to look critically at his grandson for a second, before returning to his flask with a smirk.

They were hiding something. For sure.

Summer stared at Morty, who was pouring water for everyone: Beth didn't seem to notice, staring at her cell phone, but praised the ice bucket, which made her eyes shine more than they should: "Wonderful idea, thank you darling!"

Morty smiled. Summer watched his dark circles and his nervous jerks; the tics seemed to have gotten worse.

"You can also sit down, butter robot."

Rick glared at her, while Morty seemed to break his smile. He sat down disconsolately. Summer noticed Rick's eyes on his grandson and his narrowed gray eyes: he almost seemed to want to remotely control him. Summer pursed her lips: "Oh sorry, did I break your toy?"

Rick turned to her and for a second it seemed like there was an alarm being set on in his eyes. Then, once again, contempt: "Summer, don’t be a pain in our asses with your stupid period, t-h-a-n-k-s".

The two glared at each other.

"What's your problem, Sum?" Beth asked, as if she had only just returned to Earth at that moment. She had a full glass in her hand and a clear desire to kiss Rick's ass, as usual.

"Nothing mom, go back to not fucking caring at all and try to place yourself on Tinder."

Beth and Morty opened their mouths as Rick raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" Beth asked sharply.

"I have a solution to menstrual syndrome. A  _ buuurp _ , a r-real one, not like those medieEeEval pillets," Rick commented, dry.

"Try sticking it in your ass, then."

Summer pushed her hands on the table, scrabbling back with her chair. She looked disappointed at Morty before running away. This time it was Morty's turn to watch her go up the stairs.

  
  


Morty shot the alien without blinking.

"Cover me, goddamn, Morty, cover me, hurry!"

Rick was fumbling with what looked like a particularly strong safe: it was the seventh door he could open and still nothing. A grunt caught him as he poured acid, as precise as a dropper.

Morty kept shooting; every now and then he would let out some little scream that reminded Rick that his grandson was there, but otherwise he had never felt so silent on a mission.

_ Butter robot. _

Summer's words came annoyingly to his ears.

Yes, it was true. Morty was different.

Less complaining, protests practically absent, as if he had an inexplicable desire to ...

_ Please you? _

No, justified Rick. Not just him, everyone.

And where was the problem? It was Summer who had to complain, prey to her fucking hormonal crisis. What did she have to say? It was better for her too. And Beth ... well, Beth wouldn't even notice if Morty had a third eye pop up.

_ And it's better for you, isn't it? _

"Rick, I-I'm running out of b-bullets!"

"I’m on it". The alien metal was melting, revealing the inside: a strange pink cluster that looked almost like an exotic fruit.

Rick grabbed him, just as Morty threw the now useless rifle away. The boy shielded himself with his hands, hearing the voices of the aliens closer and closer. Then, a strong grip on his arm and the familiar sound of the portal gun: in a second they were back in the green desert where they had parked the spaceship. Rick didn't leave Morty for a second, until they were on the seats. The time it took for his grandson to buckle up and they were already in space.

  
  


Rick scanned the sidereal darkness, concentrated: Morty's breathing took him away from the guide. He was fast, panting, he almost felt like he could hear his beats.

He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth and turned on the radio at high volume. Morty seemed to notice his annoyance and sat himself upright in alarm. Even too much.  His back was too straight.

"W-what is it, Rick? Did something go wrong? You took the ... the ... "

Rick grunted in reply, without another word.

"What is it that we had to take, exactly?"

Rick had been waiting for that question since the start of the trip; it was strange that Morty hadn’t harassed him since the beginning.

_ Uh, so you find him strange too? _

Rick eyed him: Morty was still red in the face and his eyes wide, larger than usual.

His hair was uncombed.

Rick prepared for the explosion: "Crypto fruit. Essentially it serves to make your farts scented ”.

Only the engine noise could be heard in the spaceship. Morty's panting was gone. There was a silence so stunned that more than the beating of the heart, the voices of the microworlds that powered the spaceship could have been heard.

"For thirty-six hours".

Rick waited: a hysterical scream, a criticism, an accusation, an existential crisis on his blood-stained hands for a futile reason or for death touched by a stupid space mango.

Simply, Morty.

For a moment he saw something pass into the boy's gaze before going out. Then a broad smile.

"Oh. Cool!".

_... _

_ Oh…? _

_... _

_ Cool…? _

Rick remained silent as he watched him smile like a fool.

Well, that's great. Well, better. His ears were thankful for that.

He smiled back, before belching loudly: "Fuck _ beeeeurp _ -ing cool, uh MooOoOorty? And we will make good money on it.”

"Do you want to sell it? To who?".

"To the only person who can  _ beeeurp _ , could pay a lot to probably waste it to some party”.

Morty glanced questioningly.

"Me”.

A violent swerve and Rick altered the ship's course. Morty would end up on him if it wasn't for the belt. Rick inexplicably hated his security mania.

Morty settled back in his seat, looking out of the glass.

He did it often. Rick was cynically accustomed to those wonders; once you see the stars as piles of burning gas all their charm is extinct. Not to Morty, though. Everything was new and spectacular, worthy of note and attention, even if it was scary.

Perhaps this was also one of the reasons Rick took him with him: it was nice to have his eyes on the universe.

The scientist turned: he could see it, from the reflection of the glass; his grandson's smile was gone. Morty didn't even seem to have noticed the stars.

  
  


 

The boy looked at himself in the mirror.

His image, identical to that of other infinite ones himself, had never been able to help but seem different to him. Dressing a black suit, elegant and haughty, he studied his own face, while another Morty was fixing his red tie, passing him immediately after a brush on his jacket.

The Morty with the suit looked at him: the expression of his double was anxious, insecure, uncertain. His eyes wandered over the jacket in search of yet another hair or trace of dust to take off, with the fear of having forgotten something. The President had a movement of disgust at the height of his stomach, which however did not succeed in bending his lips: on the contrary, he smiled.

"Thank you…"

"Y-456, Sir! T-thank you very much, Mr. President! ". The other Morty looked at him, smiling, before leaving:" If you n-need a-anything else, don't hesitate to call me! ".

The President smiled before dismissing him and remaining alone.

The tie had a lousy knot. He sighed, closing his eyes. He loosened it with tapered fingers, tying it back without effort or concentration, mastering his own actions. It was useless to give a Morty a job; there was always some imperfection. A Rick would succeed perfectly in a task; but it was impossible to give them orders. Almost.

He heard a knock on the door: "Yes?"

A Rick in the Citadel uniform entered the room, remaining at attention. The President looked at him from the mirror from which he had shot the Rick's Secret Council.

"Sir, a call came from the lab. They say they are almost ready, if you want to come and see. "

The President nodded before turning and leaving the room with the soldier.

"Beautiful tie, sir."

The President smiled: "They say it's all in the knot".

  
  


The elevator never seemed to arrive. The laboratory was at least fifty floors below ground. The President almost smiled: the elevator had probably been designed by a Morty; had it been for a Rick, they would have arrived in a second. The Citadel was full of the contradictions and horrors of that fake equality and of the goodness of the facade that did nothing but increase the disappointment of all, children of a single eternal frustration.

The door opened and the President began to walk along the white corridor, followed at close range by the Rick soldier, who was carrying a gun.

He knew every room and every location; at his passing the various Ricks and Morties greeted him with words, nods of the head, all full of reverence or, at least, of fear. The President had a smile for everyone.

A Rick met him, with their usual white coat, but completely bald. He walked beside as he updated him.

"He's almost ready, Mr. President. We were completing the remote control to change it from the previous system ".

The President nodded, without looking at him: "Did you manage to correctly integrate the previous memory, or did the damaged chip give you problems?". The tension that gripped his stomach for a moment did not reach his tone of voice.

"Everything went right, we were able to recover everything that was written on the motherboard."

"Excellent".

The two stopped in front of a door, which the soldier opened for them. They entered.

Inside there was an operating table, placed vertically: above it, a completely naked Rick, who seemed to be asleep or unconscious.

The President stared at him, without saying a word. His gaze didn't convey any expression, like usual.

"If the start-up test goes according to our calculations, it will be usable and fully functional by tomorrow."

The President approached the table, without saying a word.

"It's ready, sir," concluded the bald Rick.

The President's eyes narrowed before turning to the right of the table, where surgical instruments were placed.

He took a scalpel in his hands, turning it over for a moment: "No," he said, gripping the instrument.

"That's not true".

He raised his hand, until he reached the man's face. The scalpel cut Rick's flesh, passing along his mouth for a long time, cutting into flesh, creating a cut to scar his lips.

 

 

 

The Citadel was still being rebuilt. Of course it was hard to tell from that neighborhood, crumbling and gray. Morty walked with Rick, haughty as ever, uninterested in anything he had around. Indeed, he seemed annoyed, bored. He had a toothpick in his mouth that he had been chewing for about half an hour. Morty instead drank with his eyes all that he saw: the Citadel had always fascinated and disturbed him at the same time. It was the symbol of the Ricks obsessive ego, of their self-centeredness and self-celebration, but even more it was the clear scream of hatred towards the world, the universe, towards the infinite inferiority of all that was outside of themselves.

But yet…

There was only one other thing allowed in that egoic fortress.

Morties.

_ You serve to hide them. _

Morty bit his lip. Yes, it was true. However…

Morty turned to Rick, his Rick.

He was different.

He didn't live there, nor did he ever want to do it. Indeed, their mere presence in that place was an unimaginable risk. But it didn't take him long to get around the security system and bypass it, hiding their presence.

Rick hated the Citadel. It was the symbol of all that a Rick was not: general, common, usual, ordinary. Not significant. All that a Morty was.

He suddenly remembered when he was locked up with all the other Morties inside the containment cell, by the Rick who kidnapped them: no attempt at self-assertion, simply an automatic surrender. Until... As long as he ...

_ The one and true Morty. _

Rick turned his gaze, watching him out of the corner of his eye suddenly, as if he had noticed for a while that his grandson was staring at him. Morty shook his head before trying to concentrate on what they had around.

"What is t-this place, Rick?"

Rick kept chewing the toothpick, playing with his teeth and tongue.

"Mortytown".

Morty frowned. Mortytown? And what kind of place was it? He had never told him about it.

"Essentially a ghetto, devoid of Ricks.  _ Beeeurp _ . Y-you can notice it from the squalor we have around ... Shitty place".

With a broad wave of his hand he signaled the surrounding environment. Ruined houses, a dark atmosphere, very few people in the streets. In reality it wasn't really the way Morty imagined it would be a place created by "them". At all. It was terribly mournful. The Morties weren't like that.

As if he had called them, he saw three Morties inside an alleyway: he had seen so many alternative versions of himself; from simple t-shirts of different colors to gills and scales all over the body. Even the Cronenberg version, but for some reason these three made him... sick.

One was smoking deeply, the other was bare-chested and bruised, the third was pale and emaciated; he had never seen Morties like that. They seemed older; or better, it was impossible to give an age to them: children with elderly eyes. They frightened him and Morty couldn’t suppress a sob. The three turned towards them, with a killer look: he was facing both of them, towards Rick for being a Rick and towards Morty for being with a Rick.

They turned and Morty saw that they had a syringe in their hands; the pale one had a tourniquet tied to his arm. Rick didn't turn around, but he had a perfect perception of the little group; even after they passed away their eyes were fixed on them. Morty felt a chill down his spine, but it wasn't of fear anymore. It was something different. More intimate.

How had they become like this?

As if he had felt his chills, Rick placed a long hand on his back, urging him to turn right. Morty's shivers got worse, if possible, but he didn't know what it felt like this time either. He simply looked up, spying him sideways, without Rick returning his gaze.

Yes, he was different.

Rick turned suddenly and Morty almost blushed as he was reading his thoughts.

"We’re here".

Morty looked at him questioningly: "Where?"

He turned around, finding what appeared to be a decadent and… "adult" place in front of him.

The neon sign, in shades of pink and blue, shone in the night: "At The Creepy Morty".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, i'm so slow! But i have to write it and then translate it!  
> For italians reader, i post on EFP as Martucch :)  
> I want to thank bloodrunsred for her help on the translations, she's awesome and her story about Rickorty are beautiful :)  
> The story is finally "moving", from now on the things will be more complicated. Especially for Morty.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed your reading! Leave a comment is always nice, if you want :)
> 
> See you soon!


	4. Creepy Morty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To see what is in front of one's nose needs a constant struggle"
> 
> George Orwell

Morty had seen brothels.

And striptease s, lap dance s.

Mr Goldenfold's dream alone was enough to fulfil his fantasies until he came of age. Plus, it was hard to forget about Rick, in that sadomasochistic outfit. And , of course , Summer. Ew.

But the Creepy Morty was profoundly different from everything he had  ever seen. He didn't even know whether to call it erotic, or sexy. It was of a profound and… annoying ambiguity.

The place was teeming with Morties: Morty bartenders, waiters, mere patrons and even a croupier.

Ricks? They just didn’t seem to exist here. Rick , Morty’s Rick, was the only one present and was stared at differently by each of the  local Morties:  there were those who looked up at him with a murderous intent, and others that stared at him with a strange glint in their eyes. Morty couldn't define it.

He was distracted, actually.

He had been standing, for at least three minutes,  under the lap-dance platform, hypnotized: two Morties were dancing, with what were, to him, obviously meant to be erotic movements, but to any other person they would have seemed harmless and innocent. Even funny.

He couldn't help but look at these  Morties, as he had done earlier on the street. They didn't even seem to be different versions; they were different  of course, but it wasn’t  something visible from the physical  appearances or from the way they moved. It was the look in their eyes  that was different.

Suddenly , one of them noticed him staring  and broke away from the pole: he lowered himself with his legs spread, and  resting his arms on his thighs. He had an earring. He smiled at Morty. A mischievous, tempting smile. A look much more adult than his, a smile of someone who had seen more than Morty had.  And Morty had seen a lot of things.

A strong grip on his shoulder made him jump, bringing him back to reality. Rick. He too was staring at the dancing Morty , but coldly. The boy lifted himself upright, raising his hands as if to proclaim himself innocent,  and , with a smirk , began to go around the pole again.

"Have you finished your t- _beeurp_ , your t-tour, Morty?" Rick asked, turning him around to go to a table.

Morty let himself be guided, until he sat down on the upholstered bench. He looked down at the table, concentrating on the wood veins that intersected and the cuts made with the cutter: _Morty Town RuleZ, Rickless Bastards, Morty Powah, The One True_   _Morty_.

The Citadel had never seemed less appealing to him than it was now. It was creepy, dirty, it smelled and seemed to be rotting from the inside out. Was that why Rick hated it so much? The evil that a Rick could do was increased tenfold when the Ricks were together. And the Morties, in all this? What role did they have?

_Did they have ...?_

"If every time  we come here you're as silent as you’re being now s-sign me up, Mo-morty" Rick said, his arms crossed, his back against the pad behind him.

This time Morty was not taken aback: he stared at him, his stomach twisting.

"What kind of place is this, Rick?"

What were those Morties doing?

Who were they dancing for?

And why?

The two looked at each other in silence. In Morty's eyes there was a strange judgment, while Rick's metallic gray eyes communicated the usual, bored arrogance. But they were not fixed. They had a strange tremor.

A waiter interrupted them, addressing only Morty, without looking at Rick. The only thing that made him different was the black apron and trousers.

"W-what can I get you?"

"Do you have a _deeeeurp_ -decent fucking whiskey or d-do you, do you drink only juices in this ridiculous c-copy of a club?"

The waiter wrote in the notebook, still not looking at Rick. Then he glanced at Morty.

"For you?"

"Oh ... Y-you decide" said Morty with a nice smile.

The waiter looked at him for a second  more before turning tail and leaving.

Morty watched him leave before returning to Rick, demanding answers.

Rick snorted, rolling his eyes.

"As I said, Morty Town, _beeeeurp_ a-a ghetto neighborhood totally devoid of Rick and inhabited by Morties, who are the _“m-maasters”._ Oh, did I mention that it sucks? Yes, I said it, but I repeat: it _really_ sucks. I believe it is the _beeeurp_ \- the maximum of the autonomy that the Morties can allow _theeEeEeEmselves_. But essentially there is nothing but pushers and junkies. Morties without Rick. Nothing else". 

_Nothing else._

Morty felt the blood boil, but he remembered the anger he had been forced to hold back when he finally discovered what the hell a Krypto fruit was. A fart-smelling  piece of crap. He gritted his teeth, remembering the immense emptiness that gripped him in the garden before Rick landed with the spaceship.

No.

He didn't want to feel it anymore.

"And them?"

Morty didn't even need to watch the lap dancers. Rick knew perfectly well what he was alluding to.

“What’s the—what’s the question?"

"Rick, f-fuc..." Morty was again blocked by the waiter: a whiskey for Rick and a strange green cocktail for Morty. The boy frowned, looking hesitant at the waiter.

"Grasshopper. _We_ just take that one. Or the strawberry caipiroska  " the Morty said  before returning to the counter.

Morty brought his face close to the glass, stretching his tongue to taste. He pursed his lips before looking at Rick: "What the hell is a gras-". 

Morty broke off, amazed by what was happening at that moment: Rick was smiling. But it wasn't a grin, a look of scorn or a contemptuous laugh. It was a smile, a real smile. If it had not been Rick , Morty might have even thought that he was genuinely softened.  He burst out laughing heartily , leaving Morty stunned. A warm squeeze took him in the stomach, before he too smiled, embarrassed.

"E-ehi, wha-what the hell the-there’s t-t-to laugh ..." the most present stuttering testified to his embarrassment, but also his emotion. His red cheeks did the rest.

It was the first time he had seen him like this. Or maybe not. Maybe even that time, after those endless stairs came down with Slippery Stair. After... after that...

"Your first cocktail. Oh fuck, time flies ”. 

Rick kept laughing and Morty didn't know what to do: it was a new version of his grandfather. It was ... normal for any family. But for him it was one of the most special things that could happen. More than a supernova that imploded in its own nucleus. Rarer than that stupid fruit. He smiled, and for a moment he forgot everything: the junkies in the alleys, the dancers, the waiter, the adventure, everything.

He wanted to remember only that. A small, pleasant, happy memory. Tiny, but important.

If they really had been normal, he wouldn't have wanted so much to take his hand and hold it. Or yes? What was normal?

"Having fun here, uh, X-567?"

Morty turned, finding himself in front of two Ricks. One had a beard and long hair tied in a pigtail. The other one instead had a gold tooth that he seemed to show off with pride, in a contemptuous smile.

X-567? Oh, right.

Of course Rick had a fake dimension he used for talking with other Ricks. It was probably the best cover they could get. If the other Ricks had known who they were, Morty and his Rick would have been killed in seconds. Depending on whether or not Rick was being extra cautious.

"Before you arrived ..."

The Rick with the gold tooth sat at the head of the table, while the one with the pigtail smiled at Morty, sitting next to him and pushing him to sit in the corner of the table.

"Sorry, baby ..." he reached out, bringing his hand to Morty's left side, helping move him. He squeezed him for a moment longer than necessary and Morty felt a strange  sense of discomfort. He tried to look at the Rick subtly, craning his neck.

The Rick smiled at him disarmingly, as if nothing had happened. It smelled of strong cologne.

"MortyTown ... I haven't been in t-this sewer for quite a while. Excluding this p-place, of course. Did you take a ride?”  The Rick with the gold tooth pointed behind him, with an annoying grin.

Rick didn't answer, but Morty wasn't paying attention: he was squeezing himself against the wall as much as possible, trying to be quiet That Rick withdrew his hand from his side, but left it on his back, in a kind of caress. Morty shivered, feeling his face warm.

What did he want?

"How much is the fruit? You don't mind if I measure it, don't  you? ”  Rick with the gold tooth pulled out a bundle of measuring tape, but Morty didn't see it. That hand went down further, caressing the sacrum bone. Morty felt an uncontrollable shudder and became more upright with his back, jerking back in surprise. What did he want? To steal  something from him? Search him?

"... Hey!”

Morty turned around: Rick wasn't answering. He was staring at him. Not the Rick with the golden tooth, though. The Rick with the pigtail. It had only been a second before his Rick laughed like he had never seen him laugh, and now  his gaze was that of a murderer. It was like it was only the table between them was stopping Rick from lunging at his doppelgänger’s throat.

 Why? Did he know them? 

"Oh, did I cross a line?" The Rick with the pigtail raised his hands, resting them on the table; "This any better?".  That mischievous grin was still fixed on his face.

There was a moment of icy silence, as though they were in  a Texan duel. The tension was palpable, but Morty missed the reason.

Rick leaned over the table and , in a nanosecond , he had stuck a large syringe in the wood, in between his counterpart’s fingers. The liquid that leaked from the needle began to melt the wood with a burning stench.

All three jumped abruptly, as Rick sat back in his chair. 

"Uoooooh, calm down, fuck!" The gold tooth exploded.

"Yes " Rick ignored his shoutingwith a burp: "Better". 

The Rick with the ponytail looked at him upset, as he wrung his hands nervously.

Morty looked shocked at the liquid reaching the floor, melting it as the wood had melted, unstoppable.

The waiter arrived at that moment, barely arching his eyebrow: "I-in addition to the reparation account of the restaurant, did you want something to drink?"

" They’ll take what I’m having. Unless they—unless they don’t want to, that is, " Rick said , and the other Ricks nodded hurriedly.

“I offer” said Rick, raising his glass with a smile.

The waiter turns his tail again, leaving.

Rick pulled out a small square of metal from one of his pockets, pressing it: it immediately grew larger revealing a box. He opened it, showing them the strange fruit.

"Back to business? You have n-never seen such a big one - _eeeeurp_ \- never seen it, I bet your balls ”. 

The pigtailed Rick was at least two inches away from Morty, who kept looking at Rick , trying to understand his game. Rick didn't even deign to look at him, as though he didn't exist. As always.

The charm of _that_ smile was over, lasting for an instant ; much like happiness.

As the three of them talked about the sale, Morty stood up.

He was tired. He had been awake for almost 23 hours. 

"I-I’m going to the bathroom, Rick."

"Do you know what I say to that offer?" Another powerful burp punctuated Rick's answer, while Gold Tooth  punched the table.

Ricks.

Morty walked away, not noticing his grandfather's eye, watching him.

 

*

 

He hated public toilets .

They always gave him the same feeling s.

Claustrophobic , filthy, isolated.

They always gave him _that_ feeling.

He swallowed, unable to enter the cubicle.

He would never have told anyone, but he often pissed in the sink if there was no Jerry or Rick to wait for him. Anything to avoid actually going in there.

_But Rick’s outside, isn’t he?_

Yes.

_Rick was there last time, too._

Morty shivered before opening his zipper , standing on tiptoe in front of the sink. He would have succeeded another time.

"P-pottery fetishist?"

Morty jumped, turning to turn his back to the door as he quickly closed his pants, blushing visibly.

"Hey, I don't j-judge."

He turned, finding the Morty with the earring at the door. The lap dancer.

"What are you ashamed of? We are i-identical. Y-you have nothing I haven't already seen. "

The lap dancer smiled, before going to piss at an open door in one of the cubicles.

Morty had his heart beating wildly and looking at himself in the mirror he realized his face was,  burgundy. He couldn't go back that way. He splashed cold water from the sink on his face.

"Are you _his_?"

Morty emerged from the water, looking at the dancer in the mirror: "W-what?"

"Are you his Morty?" He repeated, flushing and exiting the cubicle, closing his fly.

Morty frowned, turning to look at him, still dripping.

"Y-yes, we’re from the same d-dimen ..."

"No. I asked you for another t-thing, ”he grinned, leaning against the sink with his elbow.

Morty didn't know what to answer. What did he mean? Yes, he was his Rick’s original Morty. What else did he want?

"I-I’m his original". 

The dancer laughed out loud, with a laugh that had nothing in common with Morty's. That too was more adult.

"I'll take it for a no, then. Even if I don't think so, since he was so pissed off before. "

Morty ran a hand over his damp face, not understanding.

The dancer broke away from the sink: "If you're not, you could j-j-join the club. We always need more Morties". 

He opened the door, before leaving: "Especially m-me. The one with the pigtail is insatiable, you know?”.

Morty was left alone in the bathroom.

Silence, again.

Morty was left to stare at his own horrified expression as he connected the dots.

 

*

 

"Oooh, it will be worth it!"The Rick with the gold tooth burst into a loud laugh, bringing the chest close to him.

Rick counted the money, passing a banknote from hand to hand, with no particular expression

"Sorry, buddy. I didn't understand he was already taken". 

Rick raised his unibrow: "What?"

"The Morty. I thought he was from the club and was at the table for… general _entertainment_. "

Rick's eyes narrowed: "He's _my_ Morty."

"Ooh, so it's really yours. In any case, g-good catch. Here t-they are not so virginal. You only use him a little, then? " The Rick with the pigtail sneered, leaning:"Sorry if I’m being pushy or whatever, but how much do you want for a night with him? I can pay upfront.”

Rick stood up, pointing a gun at the pigtailed head: "Get out of your ass or i shoot, asshole". 

The Rick with the pigtail raised his hands, while the other stood up.

"Calm, buddy, calm. W-why don't you give us the money back, so we'll go with the money, the fruit and the Morty? ”  Rick with the golden tooth was aiming at him with a gun.

Rick sighed: "What an embarrassing excuse of a RIck… "

"Rick!" Cried Morty, just out of the bathroom.

Gold Tooth  got distracted and Rick shot him in the hand, pointing them both: "Five seconds".

The two Ricks stood for a second.

"... four ...".

They jumped up, running out of the room immediately. The dancer burst out laughing, throwing a scornful kiss at the Rick with the pigtail: "Au revoir!".  Then he put his hands on his chest, looking at Rick adoringly: "My hero!"

Morty ran to Rick, who was putting the tiny case back in his pockets.

"Rick, b-but what the hell ...".

Rick open ed a portal, pushing in Morty and following him immediately. The two disappeared from the room in the blink of an eye.

The waiter was behind the counter, cleaning the glasses, as if nothing had happened. The dancer came up to him, resting his arm on the counter with a little smile: "You said he was our g-guy?"

The waiter put down his glass before pulling a tablet from a drawer. He tapped something  out, before pressing enter.

 

*

 

Rick and Morty were on the spaceship again.

The silence was prominent.

Rick stared straight ahead, while Morty sat with his arms folded across his chest.

 "W-why don't you tell me what happened?"

Rick snorted, rolled his eyes and turned on the radio.

Morty opened his mouth wide, before reaching out and turning it off.

"W-why don't you ever tell me anything, Rick? You never explain anything to me!" 

"Maybe because you don't understand a fucking thing, Mo-Morty, huh ? What do you have to say to that? What's the point of wasting M-MY breath? "

Morty bit his lip, seemed almost to restrain himself. Rick stared at him: he wanted to make Morty angry. He wanted to make Morty finally lose it. Morty couldn't take it anymore. He had been collecting Summer's digs, his mother's bullshit, Jerry's whining and ... Rick for days. What the fuck had happened to him?

He couldn't stand it anymore.

"Well, Morty? Do you have an answer?”  An annoying burp emphasized his words.

Morty squeezed his arms again, looking out the window. Rick didn’t know if he was crying, he couldn’t see his face.

_And even if you saw him?_

"No. You don’t have it. And you don't have it because you're a –beeeeurp- yes, y-you're just a fucking ball and chain, w-without critical spirit, perception, o-overall view, spirit of initiative, Morty, you're just a little sh- ".

"STOP IT!"

Morty turned, finally.

Rick didn’t let go of the wheel, but could no longer look forward.

Morty was in tears, which streaked his red face profusely. His eyes were wet, wide open and his fists trembled.

Bingo.

He had exploded.

"THAT'S ENOUGH! ENOUGH RICK, STOP IT! S-STOP INSULTING ME, ACCUSING ME,  AND TREATING ME LIKE A WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT! S-STOP IT THINK ING THAT I DON’T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING AND THAT I DON'T SEE WHAT YOU  DON’T LET ME SEE! THAT I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IN T-THAT PLACE AND W-WHAT HAPPENS BETWEEN MO-MORTIES AND RICKS! "

Rick shivered.

Morty held his head in his hands, hyperventilating. His feet went up on the seat, while his knees pressed against his forehead. The tears did not stop falling.

"W-what are we, besides d-devices to hide you? What are we serving you for? Who were those ... and what did they do ... ".

Morty burst into tears again, prey to uncontrollable sobs, his face hidden between his knees.

"M-Morty ... Hey, l-lil’ sh-Morty, stop ... calm down ..."

Rick felt his heart tighten in a vice . He took a hand off the wheel, unable to get close to Morty. Even patting his back seemed insurmountable.

The idea that _that_ Rick had touched him made Rick’s stomach turn, and his blood boil.

"You did it , d-didn’t you?".

Rick felt his blood freeze.

"W-what?"

Morty lifted his face, looking at him with a wet face, but a serious expression.

He knew what.

"Rick, did you do it?"

Rick took a deep breath, pulling both hands off the wheel.

As expected. His reaction was full of disgust.

"N-no Morty, I don't ..."

"Tell me the truth. Y-you ... have you ever done it? ".

Rick remained silent.

He chose a half-lie.

"No. I never did anything in that place. "

Morty stared at him and Rick looked back without yielding. Neither of them did.

The boy looked tired, exhausted. It was more than a day that they had not slept and his eyelids began to fall. The crying had given him the final blow. He was exhausted, like a baby.

Morty began to shake his lip and Rick feared another question, one that could break his distance, both good and bad.

"W-why are you running away?"

This was not expected.

What?

He frowned, not answering.

"Do you ... are you afraid it will happen to you?"

His heart roared in his chest, furious, fast. His breathing was difficult.

Why did he ask him?

There, alone, in the spaceship, in darkness and sidereal silence, _where no one can hear you scream_. With those giant and shiny eyes, red cheeks, trembling lips ...

"T-that’s why you hate me and why you  always leave?".

Another tear fell from Morty's eyes, which had never seemed as small as it was at that moment.

Small, helpless, alone.

_ Areyouhis? He’smyMorty. Areyouhis? He’smyMorty. Areyouhis? He’smyMorty. Areyouhis? He’smyMorty. Areyouhis? He’smyMorty. Areyouhis? He’smyMorty. _

Rick approached and Morty hid his face between his knees again.

Rick took a deep breath, raising a hand over his head. He couldn't caress him. Despite being so irresistibly defenseless.

"M-Morty ...".

Morty didn’t move, but rather slumped against the arm of the seat.

Rick slid a hand down his arm, barely moving it. He uncovered his face: Morty had collapsed. Fulfilled, asleep, unconscious. He had succumbed to blissful unconsciousness.

Rick looked at his wet face, before finally passing a hand through his brown hair, in a secret touch that only he would remember.

"Yes. I hate you, Morty. "

Rick turned his face slightly, coming closer.

"I really hate you."

He breathed on his lips, before kissing him, the taste of bitter tears mixing with Morty’s sweetness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys!
> 
> Yes, it took me a while to write this chapter, sorry. Besides the holidays, the reason is that I was a little discouraged seeing how little interest the third chapter had. I would love to know what you think of the story, your comments are important, really.
> 
> Thank you, and thanks to bloodrunsred who always helps me with English and reviews all my drafts <3 go and read her, she's awesome!


	5. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The doubt is the beginning of knowledge"
> 
> René Descartes

"BLIPS AND CHIIIIIIITZ !"

"BLIIIIIIPS AND CHITZZZZ !"

"BLIPS AND CHIIIITZ!!!"

For at least three minutes, Rick and Morty did nothing but scream the name of the mega intergalactic game room in which they continued to wander, arms outstretched and eyes turned upwards. Their eyes were bright and sparkling, like those of two kids filled with sugar , find what seemed like a hundred tokens on the floor.

Rick was already wearing a bunch of gadgets that were very embarrassing: bubbleballs, hats, necklaces, a rubber tentacle, a kind of acid green milkshake and glasses that lit up. Morty was more sober, but he kept stuttering all the games he wanted to do in a random order, without making up his mind.

"Did you see what a fruit that makes the fart good can do, eh M-Meeeuroty? Eh? You know what?"

"Blips and Chiiiiitz !!" Morty shouted again, hopping with his hands up.

"Yeaaaaaaah, a fucking day at Blips and Chitz!"

"How much money do we have to spend, R-Rick?" Morty asked hopefully with his hands together   in the all too familiar praying position.

"Mmmh, le-let me check, MoOooOrty." Rick reached into his pocket, before pulling out a handful of bills and sling it into the air: "All the ones we want, u-until we ruin our eyeballs by looking at these fucking screens! "

Morty laughed, hopping to catch them, while Rick was noisily burping. They had clearly gained some attention: someone looked at them with amusement, while the families moved quickly away.

"T-thanks, Rick! This time we haven't done anything b-bad and we can spend  our shit w-without anything bad happening! ”Morty moved towards a sort of space-kangaroo brass knuckles.

"Y-yes, Morty, whatever " Rick took another swig from the flask, which turned out to be empty. That self-filling flask was certainly the invention that he had procrastinated most. And the most useful, however. With a snort, he turned it upside down: nothing, not even a drop.

"M-Morty I'm going to drink something. T-try to accumulate points to _eeeeeurp_ t-to win that Gazorpazorpfield puppet ".

"Geez, I'll t-try, Rick," Morty said, before pulling a punch at the space kangaroo, which kicked him straight back into his nose. Morty covered it with his hands before he began to hop in pain. Rick smiled slightly before going to the bar.

 

 

"Give me a kevdix. Not seasoned, don't get smart. ” 

The waiter, purple and with a green crest, gave him a dirty look before pouring his glass. Rick drank it in one gulp, feeling a sharp warmth spread through his stomach. It was nothing compared to Mexican food, though. The alien stared at him in amazement, before Rick motioned for him to pour again.

On the second shot, he could say he was completely relaxed. He stretched back, stretching out on the chair and putting his hands behind his head, eyes closed. Relax ed, finally.

_Not true_.

It was right to blow off some steam, even for the boy. Blips and Chitz was the best place to not think.

_Liar_.

Finally a bit of peace.

_Who_   _do you think you're foolin'?_

Rick opened his eyes that were anything but serene. He gritted his teeth, annoyed by his own thoughts that he could not silence. Self-awareness was the greatest and most dramatic error of nature, an obstacle to the true potential of being.

_Well, you're God. Why don't you take care of that?_

Rick sat up straight in his chair, slamming his glass on the counter and again attracting the attention of the waiter, who had just finished serving three boys who certainly looked about thirteen.

"What do you have strong?"

The waiter looked at the empty glass before returning to Rick: "That."

Rick grunted, before leaning against the counter and turning in his chair, bringing his hands to his temples and muttering to himself: "Well, I'll need a lot to silence my brain."

"Why don't you talk to it instead?"

Rick turned his head, looking at the boy over his shoulder and narrowing his eyes. Creepy Morty's waiter was a thing, but could all  teenagers be so annoying? This  one seemed to be retarded, moreover.

"Who the fuck am I supposed to talk to?"

The purple boy flushed magenta, starting to clean a glass with nervousness.

"There is a game called _Talk2You_. It's an introspective console that makes your mind become something… phisical and lets you talk to it ". 

Rick stared at him in silence and the boy added, feigning nonchalance: "It helps me...". 

Rick raised an eyebrow before turning his body completely, leaning against the counter. He took off his hat, resting all the thousand gadgets he had on the  bar counter.  The waiter began to sweat.

"Do you even know the word ‘introspective’? What a waste such a fine mind behind a bar counter ... "Rick's tone was sarcastic, and layered with false pity. He shook his head in a murmur of dissent.

_Now you get mad at the bartender?_

Rick gritted his teeth, furious.

_Think about it. Because it will take several of those shots to make me stop breaking your balls._

The waiter turned uneasily, weighing the idea of calling security. The screech of the retreating stool alerted him  to Rick standing.

"What floor is it  on?"

 

 

Morty was confused.

It was the first time that in an outburst to Rick, despite the unspoken, he had been so direct, so precise. So pungent and urgent. He had screamed like a few times and asked him ... he asked him ...

What you should never ask for.

And it didn’t escape Morty that he hadn’t answered the question.

"Did you mistake it for your cock, kid?"

Morty turned around: an alien that looked like a feathered giraffe was looking down at him, annoyed. Morty looked down, seeing in his hands a toy pistol that had suddenly become heavy; he was passing it between his hands, forgetting the game in front of him. The forming line was shifting and sighing, led by the ostrich giraffe.

"Oh ... S-sorry, I-I was ..."

The giraffe tore the gun from Morty's hand, pushing him aside and starting to shoot the targets poorly, in order to impress his girlfriend next to him.

Morty glared at him before leaving, his hands in his pockets and his eyes lowered. He kicked a milk-shake on the floor before sitting on the edge of a decorative fountain, framing his face thoughtfully in his hands.

Nothing, he was distracted. Despite the earlier games that he had played with Rick, he could not enjoy Blips And Chitz. He couldn't understand why Rick had brought him there. What was the point of a reward after such a fight? Did he feel guilty? Did he want to balance a horrible place like Creepy Morty? Was it a sweetener? That thought made him boil.

And where the hell was Rick?

Morty sighed, raising his legs and squeezing them with his arms, resting his forehead on his knees, tired. That position inevitably reminded him of his cry in the spaceship.

They had both reacted like two little boys: they had buried the unspeakable by venting in a game room, where the mess, the screams and the attractions made too much noise to think. Too bad Rick wasn't a kid; Morty at least had some excuse.

The excuse that everything was always too much bigger than him.

_"No. I never did anything in that place. "_

_"Is that why you run away?"_

_"Are you afraid it will happen to you?"_

Morty closed his eyes, covering his face with his hands: but how had it occurred to him to ask him things like that? Where had those questions and the courage to ask come from? He didn't recognize himself if he thought about it again. Among them there had always been the unsaid; billions and billions of unspoken questions never asked and answers never given.

It was Rick's power.

His secrets were his greatest strength. The greatest detachment he had from the world and the highest throne from which he looked at it. Perhaps the only reason he could move forward. His greatest superiority.

Morty sighed, lowering his hands from his face.

_"Are you afraid it will happen to you?"_

He had not answered that question, in fact.

Did he?

Soon after he had collapsed  into a sleep that seemed almost a defense.

A thought flashed through his brain, suddenly.

What if  Rick's secrets were not a power but a condemnation?

The burden of bringing the answers by yourself, without sharing them with others.

And if he had shared them? How would Morty react?

Morty stared straight ahead.

The noise of this place was too much. Not to think, though; but for answers.

He needed to say something to Rick. Though whether to apologise, to thank him... he didn’t know.

He stood up, looking around for the bar and Rick’s familiar gray-blue hair.

 

 

"Hi, I'm Mr Meeseeks! Look at me! Give us time to assimilate your information and recreate your mental avatar! Hi, I'm Mr Meeseeks! "

A Rick with clearly lowered eyelids stared at the screen in front of him, where a Mr Meeseeks of pixels smiled at him toothy.

Who could come up with the idea of using a Meeseeks as a mascot? He had to be a crazy sadist, especially for the main function of the machine. Talk ing to yourself. It was sick.

A Rick probably invented it. 

"Beginning of assimilation! Stay still! "

A sucker stuck to Rick's forehead, who raise an eyebrow: he would have to destroy the system's database as soon as he got out of there. As long as the machine was not overloaded. That black cubicle, with only the front screen, was already beginning to cling to him.

"It will take about ten minutes! Hi, I'm Mr Meeseeks! "

It took forty-five.

"That’s shit".

Just as Rick was about to leave, thinking that he had broken the attraction and was ready to build one himself, a familiar voice stopped him from taking his suction cup off his forehead.

"Where are you running? Right now that you have someone at your level to talk to. "

Rick took his hand away cautiously from the sucker, watching that Meeseeks spoke with his voice. Suddenly, the blue being changed, distorted, changing its connotations to become ... A Rick . Himself.

His double looked at him, his hands resting on his hips, with an extremely bastard smile on his face.

Did he really look like that when he grinned? Creepy.

"I doubt your shitty replicate self is even remotely similar to _beeeurp_ me."

"Oh, I assure you that a very precise job was done, instead. A Rick built it. "

Bingo. As it turns out. Rick belched loudly; the shots made themselves heard.

"It seems to me that you belch too little ".

"We have neglected the apparent frivolities. I assure you, however, that your mind is the same as mine ". 

Rick twisted his mouth in that virtual affront.

"I doubt it". 

"Oh, yes? Despite your fucking pride you're here, though. Did you want to talk to me? "

"Yes, I'd like to know what the fuck you want."

"What the fuck I want? Oh, you know that, Rick. What you want". 

The two remained silent. Rick's lips were a tight line, the other's were bent into a confident and amused smile. A raised eyebrow shot up.

"Are you here because you want me to say it?"

Rick immediately pulled the suction cup from his forehead, turning to leave the dark cubicle.

"It's useless, I get to stay here."

Rick turned, looking at the alter ego with his arms crossed with the same smile. He raised a hand, pointing to Rick: "And there, too."

Rick went back to large strides below the screen, punching him with a fist. A small crack, which did not disturb his virtual image.

"Do you hate yourself so much that you want to destroy any of your representations? But you didn't succeed with the Citadel, didn't you? Indeed, you are afraid they are coming back stronger than before. And you failed even with yourself. "

A memory appeared in a flash on the screen: the suicide attempt after returning from the planet of Unity.

Ok. That satanic attraction knew everything. And he wasn't like the Ricks of other dimensions. A shiver ran down his spine.

Good. He might as well let off steam.

"I hate you". 

He could do better.

"Yes, you are the thing you hate most. But you also told it to the boy, though. You're becoming monothematic. "

"He didn't even hear me."

"And hopefully, see what the fuck you did next."

Rick remained silent, swelling his chest in anger in a long breath. The alter ego bent on his knees, feigning compassion and sorrow, like a wise master.

"Do we want to say what happened next?"

"Not a fucking thing happen, because nobody knows what happened."

"You know it. You know you kissed your grands- "

"ENOUGH!"

The alter ego raised its hands, feigning innocence.

"It is you who came to me, not the other way around."

"I came here because you didn't do anything but repeat the same bullshit!"

"Then? Do you want to kill me?". 

The Rick raised his hand towards his temple, pointing his index finger and thumb at it, mimicking a shot with his mouth. Then he turned the gun to the real one.

"So no one will know what you know, right? All your secrets will be safe, forever. "

"I always say whatever the fuck I think, you're off track."

"Of course, you do ..." the Rick began pacing back and forth across the screen, looking down with his hands folded behind his back. Suddenly he looked at him: "Maybe because you know you can go back". 

Rick frowned, questioning. Or worried.

"How many things did you remove?"

That's where he wanted to go.

"How many things did you tell him, done, made to do, hidden without losing a bit  of sleep? How many things are you the only one who knows what happened? That room is full of vials ... ".

"If you don't remember them, they didn't happen."

"You remember them, though, don't you? And maybe you even see them again ... In a slippery sadomasochistic loop, a sick and self-referential handjob. Or is it a punishment and you have actually deceived everyone and you are a martyr? "

The two remained silent. If it hadn't been for that tension, they would both burst out laughing at the last sentence.

"Why don't you break those memories?"

Rick didn't answer. He was resisting the urge to finally break the screen. Perhaps he was really masochist, after all.

"Maybe because you want him to remember, sooner or later" .

The virtual Rick looked at him seriously, for the first time. A smile immediately broke the moment: "Of course after how he reacted yesterday ... It’s a little risky, right?"

"There is nothing he need s to know more than  what he know s now. Because there is no-fucking-thing  to know ". 

"Or because he wouldn't understand. You always tell him he doesn't understand shit, right? "

"If you say another 'right?' I swear I’ll set fire to this fucking console."

"So maybe you'll have time to think about everything you need to tell him. There are many secrets ... but only two will change everything forever. Do you know them ... right? "

The virtual Rick's grin was diabolical, crazy, provocative. Seeing him , facing him , could make the real Rick feel annoyingly empathetic; it was not easy to bear. And Rick hated enduring. He turned around to really leave.

"  

"Aren't you tired of this useless rhetoric too?"

"Why did you take him to the Creepy Morty?"

Rick didn't turn around, but he slowed to a stop.

He had no answer to that question. There were a thousand places where he could meet those Ricks. He had chosen that … depraved hellhole.

"You know why, don't you?"

The virtual Rick smiled, unable to see.

"Yes, I know. Do you?". 

Rick remained silent. The alter ego pressed him, in a final jab: "Morty is an experiment. Your umpteenth experiment. It was a test. What is the scientist's response after bringing the innocent sheep among wolves? The doubt he’ll keep with  him forever , was what you wanted?"

Rick turned and dedicated to himself one of the most tired looks he had ever had.

"I don’t know". 

His double shrugged: "He can always forget ... right?"

A final grin curled his lips, before the screen exploded in an incredible din. Rick watched the smoke escape from the tip of his plasma gun and stepped out of the cubicle.

 

 

Morty heard a deafening noise coming from behind him. He jumped, turning as he watched black smoke come out of an attraction. That had to be Rick’s doing.

He ran towards the attraction a few meters from him and saw the scientist, with his hands in the pockets of his coat, coming towards him without showing any sign of seeing him: his careless exit from the flames and the smoke made him look like a spitting demon directly from the mouth of Hell.

Around them was chaos; families in panic, security guards, attendants, maintainers. Rick kept walking, past Morty.

"R-Rick ...?"

Morty followed him, frowning in concern. He grabbed the sleeve of his coat to get his attention and felt his wrist as it burned in an iron grip. He groaned in surprise as Rick's eyes pierced him.

"The tour is over."

Morty was dazzled by a glowing green light, as the smell of the garage permeated his senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but the work submerged me.  
> I have to be in a very particular mood to write about Rick and Morty, and I'm sorry because I really have so much to say about them and still a lot of plot to unravel.  
> I thank so much bloodrunsred for her always precise, fast and accurate corrections. Without her I probably would never have published it outside Italy.  
> I hope to read your comments, they are very important for me to go on!


	6. Relativity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Since mathematicians have invaded my theory of relativity, I don't understand it anymore either."
> 
> Albert Einstein

The little boy grinned, perfectly aware of his power. Sitting on the table, his head was tilted to the side, so that his earrings  sparkled in the neon light. He had dark circles that made him look more  mature and his smile was much older than his age.

The Rick sitting in front of him watched him from below, completely rapt and bewitched. If Ricks didn’t normally have saliva pooling at their mouths , he would have said he was drooling.

The lap dancer crossed his legs and the Rick followed the movement with a lust that on Earth would have been considered a crime in a moment. But they weren't on Earth. They were in the Citadel, in the place without rules, the realm of the Rickless Bastards: the Creepy Morty.

Envy of the Mortys still at home with their families was undeniable. Not everyone, however, missed their Ricks. There were those who preferred that place.

After all, maybe this was the only place where Mortys were superior to the Ricks. More powerful than them.

The Rick reached a hand towards the thigh of the dancer, who however stepped over it, wiggling his index finger in denial.

"No, no, don't touch ... First you have to pay". 

The Rick laughed, before running his long white fingers over the dancer's thigh, in a caress that seemed more like a test than anything else 

“You’re going to ruin the mood, though, kid. Don’t you trust me?” 

The Morty laughed, as though he had been told a joke. 

"Trust a Rick ?"

The two looked at each other in silence.

"I can have you anyway."

The Morty didn’t stop smiling, but his eyes became colder.

"There are things you can't have without asking."

_But you will never understand this._

The Rick grinned wickedly, focusing on their greatest weakness.

"I can have another of  you."

This time the dancer’s smile dripped  from his face. The cold look became distant. He just shook his head.

"No one is me". 

The Rick squeezed his thigh just before taking his hand, bringing it to his mouth. He sniffed it before breathing deeply. He bit his palm, leaving his mark.

The dancer held a movement of disgust, keeping the smile required of his repertoire.

"I hope you’re worth the money.” 

The Rick rummaged in one of his coat pockets, putting a good number of bills in the hand he was smelling.

The boy came down from the table, inviting the man to follow him with a mischievous expression. He started walking towards a door, looking at him over his shoulder: "None of you ever complained."

Suddenly the dancer was blocked by something in front of him, with which he slammed. The impact was hard, as if it had collided with a wall. He turned, finding himself in front of a Rick: black T-shirt, deep circles, a scar that smashed his mouth and a look that no other Rick had.

The dancer was thrilled uncontrollably, unable to say anything. He knew perfectly well who this Rick was.

He was back.

"Hey, he's  booked," Rick stood at the table, ready to go for a fight.

Evil Rick turned around, looking into his eyes and stopping him only with his glare. The dancer sought the eyes of the waiter at the counter, who was motionless, in his usual composure, but who seemed to be able to break from one moment to another.

"Sorry, I’ll skip the line."

"My ass you will". 

The Rick grabbed the lap dancer's wrist, tugging him toward him, but he didn't have time to say anything else. Evil Rick snapped his hand around the neck of the alter ego, squeezing it in a vice that was not human; the creaking of the neck was perfectly audible.

The Rick began to choke, with blood pumping to his brain and foaming at the mouth. He brought his hands to those of the other, squeezing them, scratching them, to no avail. Despite the blood coming out of the digging nails, Evil Rick didn't flinch. The dancer covered his mouth with one hand, holding back a groan, his eyes glistening with horrified tears . The Rick was lifted off the ground; he kicked, cursing him, his eyes seeming to come out of their sockets.

He turned just in time, not to look, hearing the last crack. After that, a thud. He no longer turned around, holding back a retch.

Evil Rick watched the blood on the back of his hand, wiping it carelessly on his coat. When he looked at the only two Mortys in the room, he smiled again.

"You should choose better customers."

The man stepped over the dead Rick to the ground, as if he did not exist, heading to the counter with his hands inside his coat pockets. The dancer glanced at the Rick's terrifying dull eyes, letting a tear escape.

"Forgive the delay, but we've had a lot to do. Me, especially ". 

The waiter behind the counter was pale as a corpse.

Evil Rick raised an eyebrow, looking bored: "The signal came from here. Or am I wrong?” He asked the question like he knew he wasn’t wrong, like he was testing them with every syllable. 

The waiter nodded, cautiously: "W-we have reason to believe t-that he was him. He d-didn’t possess any identification number i-in the detector you provided. No-no dimension. And not even his Mo-Morty ". 

Evil Rick narrowed his eyes: "His Morty? Did he bring him here? "

"He w-was accompanied. But we can't be sure if they were them. Let's just say that his attitude was ... rather ... ".

Evil Rick waited for explanations, which didn’t arrive.

"... P-particularly Rickish". 

"Poor as an explanation". 

"We are all equal. I-it is not easy to distinguish ... ".

"So you brought me to this shithole on what? A whim?”  Evil Rick folded his arms on the counter, leaning towards the bartender.

"Y-you gave the maximum alert in t-the whole Citadel to find C-137". 

"If you really believed it was him, you could have stopped him " the man cracked his fingers, flexing them against the table. "I’ll correct  myself ... you should have stopped him". 

The bartender swallowed, barely backing up against the shelves behind him, rattling the spirits: "W-we don't have the means to—to do that.” 

Evil Rick laughed, a sadistic and explosive laugh: "Don't you have? Virtually all Ricks of any dimension come here, sooner or later". 

The man turned, looking at the dancer who had remained motionless, but who now had completely wet cheeks. He stood up, walking towards him.

"You have more power than you imagine," he shook his head, in a mixture of pity and amusement, clenching his fingers on the dancer's damp cheeks, moving his face.

"Too bad you are  all Morties, incapable to understand it". 

The dancer trembled and backed into  a red sofa, managing to escape from his grip. He was terrified of his size, the absence of light in his eyes. He had never really seen a look like that.

"N-not with him ," finally ventured the Morty with the earring s.

Evil Rick raised an eyebrow: a silent encouragement to explain himself better.

"He never even looked at us. His M-Morty ... he ... "

He took a deep breath before continuing: "... he didn't have the slightest idea of w-what happens here. He d-doesn't know anything. He was shocked ". 

Evil Rick remained silent. The only audible noise was that of the stroboscopic ball that continues to turn, rusty.

The man's mouth, distorted by the scar, bent into an expression that seemed annoyed, before turning into a low, husky chuckle. The dancer could have sworn he saw for a moment a spark in his eyes. Something different in that blank look.

Evil Rick shook his head, turning toward the exit.

"Keep your eyes open ," the man started towards the exit, without worrying about the dead man  he was leaving behind.

"They'll be back. If not togheter, alone". 

He turned for a last time, before leaving: "At least in this we are similar. We are stubborn”.

The bartender and the dancer were left alone, slowly starting to breathe again, looking into each other's eyes with the tachycardia that stirred his chest in exactly the same way.

 

 

Rick had been locked in the garage for a day and a half. Whenever Morty came in, it was as if he didn't exist: the scientist was bent over his counter, tinkering with who knows what. With each request or communication, from going to the adventure, or simply saying that dinner was ready, Rick would respond with a grunt. It was not known whether it was assent or annoyiance.

Morty was with the plate in his hand, steaming: chicken curry and nearby basmati rice. It was exotic cooking day. He was watching him from outside the door, uncertain whether to enter or not. Dinner had been over for two hours, but Rick hadn't touched food. He had warmed it, but now he was not convinced whether to enter or not, he feared an outburst.

He bit his lip: his stomach had been in constant tension for days, his muscles hurt.

Something had changed since that first fight; since Rick had left.

_That's not it, coward._

“Are you going to come in ? It's getting creepy. ”Rick didn't turn to look at him, belching over his invention.

Morty jumped and nearly dropped the plate. He entered the garage, cautiously approaching the workbench.

"C-chicken curry ," he put the steaming plate on the table, with a satisfied smile. Then he looked at what Rick was messing with: "Is that a f-flask?"

Rick finally looked away from his invention before looking at the plate. Then he looked at Morty for a moment.

"I thought I had finished with the waiters ..." he said more to himself than to his grandson, who in fact frowned, not understanding.

"Uh? A-aren't you hungry? "

"I just don't need a caregiver, Morty. Your life is so r _eeeeurp_ ally so empty as to have to do a-assistentialism to me? "

Morty was silent for a second before blinking.

"Y-yes ...?"

Rick rolled his eyes, starting to work again.

"Well, no thanks, go to interdimensional TV, or masturbate, or whatever the fuck you people do ."

Morty stared at him. It was impossible to frame a mood in Rick. It could have been said that he was always angry or sarcastic. Amused, but never happy, never serene. At that moment, Morty couldn't define his face. The word "sad" flashed in his mind. But it was much more likely that Rick was simply annoyed.

The boy turned and started for the door. Before leaving he grabbed the door jamb, unable to restrain himself. He bit his lip and took courage.

"It’s everything ok , Rick?"

The man stopped. He didn’t look up at his grandson, and Morty could have sworn to see him take an inaudible breath before speaking. He turned, pinning him with his eyes, the same strange color of his hair.

"It's relative, Morty."

The two looked at each other in silence. Morty waited; for anything else. A gesture, a sentence, an insult, a burp. Nothing.

The scientist went back to work, as if nothing had happened.

Morty stepped out the door, closing it behind him.

 

 

Morty was in front of the couch, alone, engaged in multidimensional zapping that he wasn't paying attention to. Summer was out (she used to go out a lot lately), Beth was on the night shift, Rick was downstairs and Jerry ...

"Hey, champ!”

There he is.

Morty turned to his father; he seemed not to hear his voice for centuries.

"Oh, hey d-dad "

Jerry sat next to him, just watching TV.

"What do you do? Multizapping? See something cool?"

If it had been there, Summer would have already silenced him with a stinging joke, devastating his paternal self-esteem. Morty, on the other hand, would have touched the father-son picture, he was unable to sneak. Unless Rick woke up from torpor, throwing him into an interdimensional vortex.

Honestly at the time, though, he didn't know what to choose.

Maybe this break from Rick was right. Maybe they just had to breathe. The problem was that those moments alone ... tripled his questions.

... Better Jerry.

"Hmm ... not really" he replied, keeping his eyes on the TV.

"No adventures today?"

"No ... today not. Only school."

"It went well then ?"

Jerry laughed good-naturedly, in his usual naive way, in yet another barrel at Rick.

He hadn't said bullshit, though.

"How are you?"

Oh, fuck. Nothing to do, it was that moment there.

"N-normal, I think."

"Wow, we're talkative today."

"N-no, Dad, sorry it's that I-I'm a little tired."

"Sure, you don't sleep enough."

It was clear what Jerry was alluding to. He didn't waste an opportunity to distract him from his adventures. He had no idea, however, how much his sleepless nights were more complicated. He turned to look at him.

He breathed deeply.

How much he wanted to let off steam at times. About Rick, his thoughts, everything. Of what he had seen ...

He was becoming like Rick. He too was now full of secrets. His family was increasingly distant.

And he more and more alone.

"Y-You're right. Ma-maybe I’d better get to bed.” 

Morty got up from the couch, leaving the TV on for Jerry, who looked at him disconsolately.

"Hey, is everything okay?"

Morty stopped.

_It's relative, dad._

He wanted to say this. But at least he wasn't as hypocritical with himself as Rick was. No, it wasn't ok. Fuck, it wasn’t ok at all.

He chose to be hypocritical only with Jerry.

"Y-yes, Dad. Really, it's okay ”. 

Jerry's sad expression was impossible to ignore, he managed to make everyone feel sorry. Morty sighed, turning back but not sitting down.

"W-what is it?"

"It's just that we haven't talked in a long time, Morty. You're always elusive, or with Rick. Mom and I don't follow you anymore ”.

_And when did you ever follow me?_

"W-well, y-you two  are p-pretty busy."

_Looking for a job and rebuilding a marriage takes a long time._

"I always have time for you, Morty. We could do something together tomorrow. "

"T-tomorrow I-I should go with Rick to d-do something."

Jerry frowned: "Can't you put it off?"

"N-I don't think R-Rick-"

"But what do you think, Morty? Can you reason with your head? If Rick tells you to jump off a bridge you w- "

"R-Rick m-also tells me w-worse things to do, dad. In any case, I'm tired, good-night ".

Morty went off towards the stairs, annoyed. It was his open nerve, to point out to him that he did everything Rick said. The truth, basically. That he was under the thumb of the scientist, until he exploded.

"You have to be careful, Morty. Rick takes you on his adventures because he has no one else near him. He wants someone who don’t judge him, who can model in his image and likeness ”.

Unbelievable.

It was probably the wisest thing Jerry had ever said. Morty looked at him in surprise.

"Someone who sees him as a God, and not for what he is".

_But Rick is a God._

He followed it only out of obligation, though?

"I'm just worried about you, Morty."

"D-dad, I-I'm fine, I know-I'm just tired, really. I am alive and well. To-tomorrow we'll do something together, okay? "

Morty started up the stairs before he stopped.

"I will never forgive him for making you start stuttering."

Morty turned to him in what was a silent question. It took Jerry a while to respond.

"It's true. Before he came here you didn't stutter. I thought you noticed. "

Morty looked at his father for a moment longer, before feeling a squeeze in his heart and repulsion in the pit of his stomach.

No. He didn't know.

He knew nothing.

 

 

Finished. Finally the fucking flask was over. Regardless of his procrastination, it had not been easy to modify it to ensure that the space gap at its base evaded the controls of his favorite brand of whiskey. It would probably go bankrupt.

However, the time that had elapsed from the idea to its realization was absurd. It wasn't by Rick.

Morty.

It was Morty's fault. He distracted him.

The scientist took a long sip at the new creation: he made sure to choose the best seasoned whiskey container. It was awesome.

Rick let himself go in the chair, with a sigh, closing his eyes. The torpor of alcohol helped him to relax, spreading throughout his body.

Here are the thoughts that came back as soon as he had nothing to do.

His mind was right. Why had he taken him to the Creepy Morty?

He couldn't not think about it. It was the stupidest move he could make. What the hell was he thinking about?

No one damn think was ok, not a fucking think.

He ran a hand over his forehead, leading it to cover his mouth.

It was not relative. He was a fucking psychopath.

_Have you ever done it?_

_No, in that place I never did anything._

Those sentences didn't go away from hismind. He could not forget Morty's gaze: it was a rhetorical question; he wanted a yes, he demanded it. No other answer was possible. And again other unsaid had accumulated. They could have made the collection.

Rick's hand slipped to his side as he looked at the ceiling.

He took another long sip of the flask. With that invention he had eliminated the limitations and self-limitations: he could not regulate himself, he didn’t know how much alcohol he had drunk. He hated being limited. In all his life, he had never done it and had paid all the consequences, which weighed more and more every day.

Morty was the only limit he had set himself.

The only rule he had left.

Having him around every day, so close, so helpless and unaware, was making him sick.

He could do nothing but think about how good it would be to break that rule...

Completely.

Rick continued to drink, without limits.

 

 

Morty was often sleepless.

There were few nights when he could sleep continuously for more than four hours at a time. He was used to it; often he recovered by sleeping in the classroom, to the further detriment of his grades.

He couldn't do anything about it, he didn't sleep. Monsters, nightmares, death, but also porn, masturbation, video games. He go to sleep simply much later than allowed, every night.

With his arms behind his head he looked at the ceiling. It was the first time in those days that he stopped: the planet of the fruit, the Creepy Morty, Blips and Chitz, school.

He was finally alone.

With himself.

Obviously there was only one place where his mind could go.

The Creepy Morty ...

That pole dancer in the bathroom ... he didn't look like a normal Morty and he can’t stop thinking about him. He didn't have all that self-confidence, that savoir-faire. He wouldn't even know where to start. He could not move that way, nor could he look or talk like that.

A touch of envy went to tickle the back of his neck.

Had Rick looked at him?

That question flashed in his mind without warning. Suddenly, like a hidden thought.

He found himself trying to remember if Rick had paid attention to the lap dancer the moment they entered. Perhaps he had looked at him the moment he had yanked Morty out from under the stage. He didn't really know. He was the first to stare at the dancer.

The doubt gave him a movement of annoyance in the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly he imagined himself up there, clumsy, awkward, with a red face, with a tremendous desire to hide, but trying to dance.

Ridiculous, in a humiliating situation.

Beyond the spotlights, he tried to look at the audience.

He distinguished a figure, very familiar.

Rick was among the tables.

His heart skipped a beat.

Morty looked at him as Rick nodded, encouraging him. He raised a glass of wine, dedicating a toast to him.

The boy began to sweat cold.

No no no no. Not again.

Not those fantasies.

He felt the urge to get out of bed, if it hadn't been for an already obvious erection that was swelling his pajama shorts. He swallowed, with sweating increasing.

He closed his eyes.

...

It was not the first time that happened to him.

He had dreamed several times about the adventure of the Mega Trees. When he put those damned seeds in his ass in the bathroom, an insistent erection was manifested for no reason. It hadn't been so much for the physical sensation, though; it was the fact of being _forced_ to do so.

He didn't understand, though: with King Jelly Beanit hadn't happened. It had been the ugliest and most disgusting experience of his life, which had changed him forever. It was a trauma he hadn't told anyone, that nobody knew.

Why then those fantasies ...? What's more, there was Rick.

It was normal. It was normal. On the forums, he had read about boys masturbating on mothers, about sisters. It could have happened, it was nothing serious. An Oedipus complex declined to the various members of the family.

He swallowed, bringing his hand to his erection.

It was just a wank.

And he was a hypocrite.

The Creepy Morty was about him too. He had scared him, as much as reassured. However, the fear that this sick fantasy might actually exist made him explode. It was not possible. He was not healthy. It was disturbing.

It shouldn’t and couldn’t be real.

However, not like that.

There the Morties were objects.

For some reason, Morty began to move his hand over his erection, freeing it from his shorts. He got under the blanket: every time he masturbated he preferred to be covered, protected.

He closed his eyes again.

Was it possible that this was what a Morty became, without a Rick?

He inhaled, still moving his hand over his erection, up and down, in a very strong need.

Why did it excite him, if it disgusted him?

It was humiliating him and he despised himself for it.

In his mind he saw Rick at the table.

The man stared at him, with eyes like a raptor. Metal eyes, which analyzed everything, studied everything and knew the answer to anything. Impossible to surprise.

His mouth was a line, which suddenly bent. The lights were too strong; he didn't know if it was a grin, or a smile.

Morty twisted between the sheets, moaning with frustration and pleasure, speeding up the movement of his hand.

Jessica. Jessica. Jessica.

She tried to think of Jessica, in every way, to her tits, her mouth, but that fantasy was not for her, there was no way to let her in.

He bit his lips to blood, reviewing Rick's smile and his hands that rose in a ...

... Applause.

Morty's eyes widened at the height of pleasure.

Here it is.

Here's what turned him on.

Approval.

His approval.

The door of his room burst open, interrupting Morty immediately before the orgasm, which jumped with a groan and his heart in the throat.

The light was off, it was dark, but the shape on the door was unmistakable; it populated his nightmares, his dreams and his reality.

It was Rick.

"M-Morty ... _beurrp_ ..."

And he was drunk.

The smell of alcohol invaded the whole room in a second.

"R-Rick ...? W-what's up?"

Morty raised himself on the bed with his back, remaining covered by the sheet.

It was four in the morning.

Either it was an emergency or Rick's usual night raptus to go into who knows what planet.

Rick stepped forward, dangling. His crooked and heavy gait, along with indistinct grunts, were the testimony that he had taken on a very heavy hangover.

Rick was dangerous when he drank. Like when he was about to destroy the entire planet, excluding the two of them. Rick and Morty. Rick and Morty for ever.

He closed the door slowly and the room was plunged into darkness again.

Ok. He didn't usually do that.

Morty's erection, out of fear, was gone. He was just trying to spot Rick, but his eyes weren't used to the dark yet. He could only hear his gasps, almost rattles, that made his skin crawl.

"R-Rick, p-please, it’s f-four o’cl-“

Morty caught his breath as Rick’s hand went to grab his neck, squeezing it. Automatically he brought his hands to spread his fingers without getting results. Rick's grip was a vice.

He opened his mouth, trying to catch the air. Why? He was blocking his breath; the face was turning red.

Rick lifted him from the bed, making him no longer touch his feet.

"Damn ... simulation ..."

Oh, fuck. He wasn't drunk, he was totally mad.

Morty tried to shake his head as far as possible, scratching the scientist's hands.

A strangled and faint voice came out of his throat: "N-no, I-I ... I-am ...".

"I kill you".

Rick lowered him to his face, or so he believed Morty, feeling his alcoholic breath straight in his face. He was feeling the blood coming to his brain.

"I am a God. I can do everything ..." he told him in a whisper from his lips.

"You are nothing".

Morty no longer followed him, he felt the forces that were leaving, the confused thoughts.

"R-Rick ... p-pl ..."

Morty felt himself banging hard against the wall, finally regaining his breath. A long breath of air wounded his lungs as he touched his neck, massaging it. The tears in his eyes from the effort and fear began to graze his cheeks.

The most surprising and incredible physical reaction, however, was his erection.

It was back, harder than ever.

Morty pressed himself against the corner of the room, to hide himself and his shame, and to get away from Rick.

The scientist was standing near the bed, in what seemed to be calm before another storm. It was like living a horror.

"R-Rick, no-I'm not an s-s-simulation. It's me, yes-I'm ..."

"Morty ..."

Rick's voice was different, as if he had awakened from hypnosis and suddenly calmed down.

The boy swallowed, rubbing his throat.

Suddenly, Rick put his knee on the bed, climbing on it. Morty pressed himself closer to the wall, feeling trapped.

As Rick approached, Morty grew small, curled up and shielded himself with his arms. A sob of fear came out, while his heart bounced in his chest.

Rick put his hand against the wall, over the boy's head, crushing himself against him. Morty with his eyes closed pressed his hands to his chest, in the only defense he could place between them.

He would have killed him. He was out of control; he would have killed him. He couldn't even scream.

The sobs kept shaking him, before the air caught in his throat: Rick's breathing came to rest on his hair.

Morty opened only one eye, without taking his hands away from Rick.

It took him a moment to understand.

Rick was ... smelling him.

Morty looked over at him, catching a glimpse of the scientist's face in the darkness, which breathed him with his eyes closed. A Rick’s hand went behind Morty's neck, into his hair, barely squeezing it, holding it in a control that was at the limit with need.

Morty stopped sobbing, remaining in total silence, afraid of doing anything.

There was only Rick's breath in the night. His mouth in Morty's hair.

The boy's hands, however, were still on the man's chest; he could feel his pulse and his heat. He was crushed between the wall and his bust. Rick's chest, despite his obvious thinness, was hard, tonic. He didn't look like a man of his age.

Rick's neck was at eye level and his smell filled his nostrils: alcohol, sweat, paint, gasoline, a faint scent of perfume, which was probably just his scent, adult and penetrating.

Morty didn't notice, but he squeezed his hand tightly against the scientist's coat.

At that moment he didn't know what he was most afraid of. Whether to be killed or something else ...

He had no idea, however, that being so tight could give him a pleasant feeling. He was afraid, but it was undeniable that this physical contact somehow satisfied him.

His knees, tight against his chest, hid the pulsating erection that was still there, without meaning.

He closed his eyes, trying not to think, not to feel the pain in his neck, to just enjoy that hand in his hair, that breath on his head. Rick murmured his name, once again, in a hoarse, thick voice.

Rick's fingers left his neck, slipping on his neck, where a moment before they were close to death. The time they took to caress him reminded Morty how long they were. A shiver ran down his spine. Rick noticed, because he stopped.

The man moved away, without removing his hand from his neck. Morty had grown accustomed to the dark, he could see him better: Rick was looking at him. His heart was exploding in his chest. He didn't know what to say.

The scientist approached again, while his hand went to the back of his neck again, in a more present hold.

No. He was drunk. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to.

Morty tilted his chin towards his chest, in a sort of screen. A sob escaped him.

Rick stopped once more, moving his hand over his chin, which he raised with a finger. Morty's eyes sparkled in the darkness, veiled with tears.

"W-what's up, baby?"

Morty bit his lip. There was so much, so much to say. A life of things to say. How did you answer a question like this?

_It’s relative._

For a moment he thought of using his own loophole.

He chose the road that most represented him and made him different: unawareness, being at the mercy.

"N-I don't know, R-Rick ..."

Tears fell on the boy's cheeks, and he went to squeeze his ankles with both hands, scratching them, to let off steam. Why did he always have to look so weak?

Rick was studying him, although he was always damn drunk. His face was not still, swaying. This didn’t prevent him from analyzing his grandson. Morty could have sworn the scientist had the night view incorporated, surely. It was impossible to hide anything from him, even an emotion: he was helpless before him. At the thought that he might have noticed the erection his stomach turned over.

"You hate me, don't you, Morty?"

That question displaced him. He frowned, asking himself. He had thought so many times about hating him. They were so many that he had lost count.

He had felt the greatest guilt when Rick turned himself in prison and he felt ... relieved.

When he told him that Beth couldn’t live without him, but Morty could. He really believed that. He was ready to start again. A life without Rick.

He felt strong enough to be free. A monotonous, banal life, equal to all the others, but quiet. Rick couldn’t understand this, he only despised it.

He had hated Summer at that moment: it was she who wanted to bring him back, not him. A very strong jealousy had gnawed his stomach, so much that he had taken her to the Cronenbergs to show her what Rick was capable of.

But it wasn't his fault. He knew it, after all.

He was the one who wanted Jessica to fall in love.

He was the one who defied the rules of science, just for a girl. Rick had spoiled him, making him happy, and when he was all lost he had decided to save only him, taking him away.

That day everything had changed. His vision of the universe and reality had never been so badly affected as in that adventure.

_It’s relative._

Oh, yeah. It was all fucking relative.

So why shouldn’t he hate Rick for being relative too? 

The man's finger slipped from his chin to his neck again, shook him. The scientist was staring at him, his eyes reduced to a slit: he had been silent for too long. Maybe that was already an answer.

But it wouldn't have been true.

He couldn't say yes. He just shook his head softly.

No. He didn't hate him.

He couldn't.

A smile that was anything but good bent Rick's mouth; a satisfied, pleasant sneer. Of who's playing the game again. Morty looked down; he knew he had told him too much.

"Y-you?"

He didn't know what Rick had done, he didn't want to look at him anymore.

"To death". 

The man took much less to answer.

Morty felt himself sink, with a boulder in his chest. The erection calmed down, surrendered. More tears stung his eyes, bad.

He had fallen for it again.

He knew. He knew the answer.

Morty put his hands on Rick's chest to push him away, but the scientist used the opposite force, holding him close, so strong it hurt.

"To death…"

He was completely enveloped by his smell, the bad and the good one. He was so strong that he was feeling dizzy.

Why? What did the smartest man in the universes have in his mind?

Why did he tell him that he hate him if he held him this way? Why was he trying to choke him if he breathed in his hair? Why didn't he tell him anything and explain nothing to him? Why had he brought it there? Why had he left? Why…

Morty collapsed. He collapsed under Rick, under the weight of his own questions, under everything. He burst into tears, desperate and hysterical, hiding his face on his arm. It was all too much for him.

He was too stupid, too sensitive, too superficial, too deep, too slow, too naive, too weak.

It was all that Rick was not and he was all that Morty would never be.

The scientist placed a hand on his back, letting him vent in that desperate cry. He didn't move, simply welcomed him, without giving back anything in return.

It was not known if it was because he didn’t want or because he wasn’t able to do it.

He was simply taken aback.

It was a long time before Rick spoke.

"It's okay, M-Morty"

"N-no, it's f-fucking relative" Morty said between tears and sobs that were fading.

There was a moment of silence before Rick gave a small snort equivalent to a chuckle. He broke away from Morty, looking at him with a smile.

Morty wiped his tears, trying to see better. Yes, it was a smile.

Rick was completely crazy. Perhaps it was useless to struggle over so many things. He was simply crazy.

"I too ... I-I hate you a l-little".

Morty bit his lip. Nothing, he couldn't do it.

"I t-think."

Rick didn't stop smiling, moving a strand of brown hair from his sweaty forehead.

Morty didn't want to give him satisfaction, but he smiled too, swallowing. His throat hurt.

Rick suddenly lost his smile and became serious again. Too much.

His heart began to go fast, while his erection began to throb again.

And now?

Rick put his hand over his own mouth, whirling around and throwing up on the floor, before falling out of bed and falling into the smelly pool.

No other reaction. He had surrendered to his drunkenness, falling asleep at once.

Morty moved him from there, leaving on the floor with a blanket over him, going to sleep on the couch.

He masturbated in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> This chapter is definitely longer than the others, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I liked writing it.  
> I'm sorry to receive so little feedback on the story, I don't understand if you're enjoying reading it, and I'd also like to talk to others about the fandom! So if you're enjoying the story, leave a comment, I'll do the same on your stories <3  
> See you soon!  
> Ps of course always thanks to bloodrunsred for her attention in helping me translate my work


	7. Guilt and Blame

She liked everything about him.

His dark blond hair, his strong jawline, the defined muscles in his arms, and how they were visible even if he was wearing a t-shirt.

The way he kissed her.

The two panted in the dark and silent science lab, which only resonated with their moans. Summer had her fingers in his hair, and Tony had his under her tank top, dancing over her bra. He was clutching her tits as he placed her on the desk. The girl could feel his erection rub against her thigh.

She stiffened nearly immediately.

Falling in love with the wrong person seemed to be a common link between her and her family members. Maybe it was genetic.

Jerry had fallen in love with his dictator and Beth with a shellfish that didn't satisfy her in any way. Morty wanted the most beautiful girl in school and Rick… God only knew who her grandmother was and what kind of relationship they had.

She could not be different. And she just happened to fall for the school bully.

She parted from his lips, to catch the breath that had caught in her throat. Tony didn't seem to mind, going to lick her neck, while a hand went to unbutton her white pants.

Summer stopped his wrist, forcing him to look at her.

Tony was annoyed.

"What?"

Summer held his gaze, but she couldn't help but feel the weight of her frigidity. Not wanting this didn't make her frigid, or a prude, she knew that--but she also knew what everyone else would think of her if Tony spread around that she didn't put out.

"I don't wanna do it here."

_I don't want to do it at all._

_I don’t trust you._

" Look at you, all high on yourself…” Tony bit her neck, chuckling. "It was just a fingering..."

Summer shivered, not even believing a word. Fingering, her ass. The only preliminaries they had done were blowjobs; Tony hadn't wasted that much time.

Summer pushed him away, irritated by the thought. Tony frowned, taken aback.

"What the fuck, Summer?"

Suddenly the boy's eyes lit up.

"Oh, I understand ..."

Summer opened her eyes wide, stopping anxiously.

"... You’re just on your period".

That asshole even twisted his lips. Ok, it was too much.

Summer rose from her desk, lowering her tank top and stepping out.

Idiot men. They always thought the same thing, and blamed things outside of control when they didn't get their way--because there was no possible way that someone could not want to fuck them.

"Fuck you, Tony."

The boy leaned against the desk, not understanding, looking at her ass.

"Is everyone in your family a fuckin' psycho? Jesus."

Summer slammed the lab door, leaving it in the dark again.

 

 

Beth opened the closet, taking a red shirt from the ciat-hanger, quickly slipping it on. A damn emergency had thrown her out of bed, after a night shift, out of all times. And her useless colleagues had decided to take vacation almost simultaneously. Bastards.

The woman sprayed her favorite perfume before leaving the room. Jerry would have to make the bed; if he was unemployed, at least he could take care of the house. Beth made large strides in the corridor.

A horse seemed to have a twisted stomach, at least from the initial diagnosis, but that assessment was made by that incompetent Sarah, who surely didn't have ...

Beth stopped, retracing her steps. Morty's room was next to her and a sickening smell came from there, but it wasn't the one that attracted her attention: it was Rick's coat. The woman opened the door, finding her father on the floor, half-covered by a plaid. A pool of vomit was right next to her son's bed.

The surgeon remained silent, not quite knowing what to do or what to say. Rick seemed to be fine, he was just in a deep post-hangover sleep. One of many, she knew, and she had found herself in an all too similar position more than once in her life. The problem was that he was in Morty's room and he was sleeping there. He had probably been drunk there, vomiting in front of his grandson. Beth bit her lip, clutching her bag.

She had often thought of being a mediocre mother.

With Summer she was trying to catch up lately, to keep her from making Beth’s own mistakes.

With Morty he was not mediocre. She was really a shitty mother.

She didn’t listen to him, nor comfort him, nor pay attention to him. She hadn't had to think about it for a second when it came to choosing whether to save him or Summer. There was no comparison.

She didn't know why; perhaps Morty reminded her of Jerry in all his faults and in the fact that he wasn't like her, or Rick. Perhaps she couldn't stand the idea of having an insecure, stammering and… autistic child.

Looking at her father there on the ground she understood the real reason.

_Beth Sanchez was fucking jealous._

She couldn't stand Rick's relationship with Morty.

The daily and perennial closeness that the two had, without ever letting anyone else enter their world. Summer barely, Jerry by mistake, but Beth no. She was completely excluded.

His father figure had disappeared for twenty years and when he returned he had only eyes for Morty. He had seen nothing else. Not even the fact that Rick only respected her wasn’t enough; quite the contrary: that favorable treatment made her feel even more distant, as if it had been a relationship of respect, but without feeling.

Even Jerry was considered more than she was.

Beth looked long and hard at Rick.

All she could think of was jealousy toward her son and his relationship with her father, not caring that he was drunk in her son's room, with a pool of vomit beside the nightstand.

Beth Sanchez was really a shitty mother.

She left, down the stairs and slamming the door.

 

Rick awoke to the noise, with an annoyed grunt. The smell of vomit a step away from him burned his nostrils and made his eyes sting. The man clenched his fists, rising slightly from the floor that ... wasn’t that of the garage. And not even that of his room.

Rick focused, looking at the walls, the furniture, the posters.

It was Morty's room.

What the hell was he doing there?

He looked around and saw the pool of vomit next to the empty bed.

Oh, fuck ...

The alarm clock flashed red: 11:43.

A moment of panic took him, making him accelerate his pulse.

He remembered absolutely nothing.

What had he done? Why was he there and where was Morty?

He pursed his lips in disgust with the smell; it was undoubtedly his fault, the smell of alcohol was unmistakable.

Rick stood up, stumbling and putting a hand on his head: he had exaggerated, this was for sure.

He had to understand what had happened.

Leaving the room, a cold shiver shook his back: now that he was out of the room he could smell Morty. He had his smell all on him.

 

 

Morty could still smell Rick. He had taken a shower, but he still felt it.

He didn't have his usual yellow shirt that day, but a high-necked sweater of the same color. With his hands in his pockets he wandered around the corridors. He wasn't even hungry. He had not had lunch, busy wandering in front of the classrooms, aimlessly.

He hadn’t slept anymore. Obviously.

His dark circles were hollow and deep. His skin pale and emaciated.

Fighting against a squadron of aliens would have tired him less.

He clenched his fists in his pockets, biting his lips in blood as he remembered the night in the kitchen.

He had masturbated. Furiously, urgently, more than once.

He was disgusting. A fucking psychopath.

Dreaming of dancing in front of his grandfather, seeing him arrive in a darkened room and get excited for being almost strangled, for having him so close, so much that ...

Morty leaned against a locker, giving it a small knock with his head, with his eyes closed.

It was the morbidity of their relationship, the fact that it was practically his only physical and human contact, nothing else.

He couldn't and shouldn't be anything else.

He was not a psychopath.

He was autistic, he knew that, but he wasn't sick.

Neither was Rick.

Morty didn't pay attention to the people watching him while his head was leaning against the locker, his hands in his pockets and his eyes closed. The world, the school, his family; it was all so distant. Far and extraterrestrial galaxies of which he did not understand a single word were closer.

He was just ... succumbing to Rick.

Folded to his will and clay in his hands.

He brought his head up and let it fall back again, not even nearly close to denting the metal. His blood was rushing to places it had no place being in, and he was desperate to set himself straight.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Morty returned to reality suddenly, his eyes widening. He turned, finding himself in front of Tony and his clique. The boy even looked at him surprised, shaking his head slightly.

Morty looked back at him, confused.

"W-Wha-"

"Do you enjoy breaking my locker, fag?"

Morty realized immediately.

Ok, he didn't know if he was psychopathic, but he was certainly a loser.

"N-no, sorry Tony, I don't ..."

Morty raised his hands, crushing himself toward the locker, being yanked forward by the boy, who took him by the sweater, under his neck. Morty sobbed, bringing his hands around his wrists to get rid of them.

"If you do something ..."

Tony slammed the boy's head violently against the metal of the locker and Morty heard a long whistle, with the sight darkening for a moment.

"... do it well".

The bully repeated the gesture, lifting him effortlessly and slamming him with even more violence against the metal. Morty kicked, unable to catch him. He felt the fabric of the sweater that gave way, tearing.

"It was a mistake, n-not-!"

"You can tell it to someone who cares, nerd".

Tony let him fall to the ground with a crash, taking him again by the collar and dragging him, followed by his gang chuckling, shielding Morty from the rest of the school and from prying eyes.

Morty put his fingers between his neck and the fabric, which was choking him. His throat still hurt from that night and the pain was unbearable; he was no longer breathing.

Tony dragged him into the boys' bathroom. As soon as he entered, two pissing boys splashed out of there, understanding the situation. The bully left Morty's collar, causing him to breathe again. It was worse: Morty regained his breath and focus, discovering where they had ended up.

The bathrooms.

The heart began to go very fast, while the boy was rapidly hyperventilating.

_No._

_Not there._

Morty, still on the ground, backed away, trying to escape from that place, before one of the other boys took him by one foot, dragging him towards a cockpit in one of the bathrooms.

"No! NO! ”Morty managed to kick him on the shin, hearing the bully grunt with pain. The favor was returned, with a kick in the gut. Morty leaned toward himself, holding his stomach in pain. Tears came to bite his eyes.

"Pull him up".

Two of Tony's henchmen pulled up Morty effortlessly, opening the bathroom’s door with a kick. Morty planted his feet on the doors, trying to gain time, in a mad and blind panic. He kept repeating "no", shouting at them, in the shrillest voice he had, kicking like a madman. There was nothing more rational about him, nothing that could stop that panic attack.

He was no longer at school, he was no longer there. He was in that pub, in that dirty and smelly bathroom, where he was being touched, licked, smelled, forced. He saw the purple blood on his hands, the dribble on his neck, those fingers everywhere.

His heart was about to explode, he wasn't breathing anymore.

"This asshole is out of his mind," said one of the bully.

Tony looked coldly at Morty, with his arms crossed: "Your sister hasn't given it to me yet... You try to break my locker... I think that the Smith family will need a lesson."

The boys held his hands still, managing to get him into the cubicle, bending it to ninety to stick his head into the toilet.

That position was the ultimate limit. Morty had been in apnea for at least forty seconds; in the water would have fainted. He had no air. He didn’t have…

Suddenly the bullies let go, causing him to slam into the cup, but leaving him free. Morty crouched automatically in a corner, clutching his head in his hands, bringing his legs to the chest.

He was trying to calm himself, to breathe again, to stop the tachycardia that was about to make him faint.

He barely heard the screams, the beatings, the punches, the kicks, the moans of pain out there. Nothing else existed at that time; he couldn't move or think.

...

Suddenly, silence.

Morty looked in front of him, swaying with his head in his hands, back and forth.

In front of him, at that height, he saw black shoes and brown trousers appear. A white coat with blood stains.

The man leaned down and Morty saw Rick staring at him. He was talking to him, but Morty didn't hear a thing. He was lost in his head, in his memories. He realized at that moment that he was shaking.

Suddenly, Morty felt himself shaken.

"Morty! C-come on, lil’ shit, answer me! "

The boy finally saw him for real, shaking himself from his torpor, but unable to get up or talk. He simply looked at Rick, with his huge eyes, which always seemed larger when they were veiled with tears.

Rick looked at him, touching his face, his arms, to look for wounds or something. Suddenly he pulled down the torn collar of his sweater. Morty saw his expression change: the man gritted his teeth, furious.

"Let's go ... let's go, Morty, get up."

Nothing. He was catatonic. He realized it unconsciously, but couldn’t do anything.

Rick took a deep breath, tightening his lips, before squeezing him. Morty felt himself in his arms, be lifted. He seemed to be a child again, like when you fall asleep in the car and Dad picks you up, taking you to bed.

In delirium, he lost himself in associations of thought.

Who knew if Rick had ever picked him up when he was little.

Who knew if Rick had ever seen him as a child.

All of a sudden he remembered that photo at Birdperson's house.

On Rick's lap, he left the cubicle, seeing Tony and the others on the ground, bleeding and their arms and legs twisted into angles that were decidedly unnatural. He hid his face on Rick's shoulder, refusing to even look. The reassuring and familiar noise of an interdimensional vortex greeted him as they disappeared inside, just as shouting in the bathroom they were leaving behind became louder.

 

 

Morty sometimes looked tiny.

He had grown up since Rick was back in the Smith family’s life; he had risen in height, he had developed some extra muscles, he was more defined and toned.

Those giant eyes, however, along with his behaviour, always made him look like the usual Morty.

Sometimes, however, he seemed really small, like in this moment. He was there on the bed, rolled up like a cat, wrapped in a blanket. He was still, except for a slight tremor. His gaze was facing the wall, his face almost completely covered by the plaid.

Rick stood before him.

After the blind rage that had caught him in the bathrooms, after being worried about putting Morty warm and safe, he was now… relieved.

_It wasn't his fault._

For once, Morty's pain wasn’t due to Rick, to an adventure or any experience related to him.

The awareness of not being guilty was a pleasant novelty, which relieved him of many of the responsibilities that the feelings of guilt required him to carry.

Despite this, he couldn’t sit next to him, touch him, caress him, hold him. He looked so small and fragile. Completely defenseless, but above all, needy.

_It was so easy._

Towering in front of him, Rick was torn between the desire to take advantage of him and solidarity with his grandson. He looked like a vulture, waiting to see if his prey was really dead or not.

Rick suppressed his thoughts, gritting his teeth.

"M-Morty ... come on, get over it...".

An enviable empathy.

Rick sighed, sitting on the bed. Cautious.

Morty at the movement suppressed a sob and pressed himself closer to the wall.

“Is this n-not the first time they beat you, y-you lil’ shit? Don't be a fucking victim. "

Morty didn't answer. The provocations were not functional this time.

Rick looked at the boy. It was so simple. What did it take to stroke his back, reassure him, calm him? His mother wouldn’t have done it, nor anyone else. Rick himself wouldn't have wanted anyone else to do it. He raised his hand, lowering it on Morty's shoulder, unable to touch it.

"Rick ...".

That small murmur stopped his arm, which immediately returned to its place.

"W-what the fuck, Morty?"

No reply.

Rick rolled his eyes, sighing.

"What is it, Morty?"

"C-Can you make me stronger?"

Rick's gaze was lost in the void to that question. It reminded him of a request made to him so long ago. One of those questions that change your life forever.

" T-the fuck's strength got to do with it, M-Morty?"

A moment of silence, before another sentence from that trembling ball.

"You don't know ..." he said so softly that Rick barely heard him.

What?

He knew everything.

Rick raised his eyebrow: "What?"

"What does it mean..." again a very low voice.

Rick, exasperated, finally touched him turning Morty towards him.

"You've finished doing c-cryptic or so-".

Morty's eyes were bright, his cheeks and nose red, his lip quivering. Inside that plaid he was completely defenseless and ... adorable. Rick stared at him, not realizing it. It was one of the nicest things he had ever seen. He was disgusted with thinking about it just as he was suffering like this.

"... to be me. Y-you don't know what m-means to be w-weak, R-Rick ".

At that moment, Rick felt weak. The soft knees, the heart taken by a hold, but above all the awareness of knowing what it meant to feel helpless in front of the universe. A school was enough for Morty, a hundred planets would not have been enough for Rick.

His hand was still on Morty's shoulder, which still trembled.

"I know everything".

Morty shook his head.

"I-it's not a race, Rick. It's the truth. "

"The truth is relat-".

"Not a fucking thing is relative, Rick. T-the truth is that I am weak and I am nothing. "

_I'm nothing._

Those words rang in Rick’s head, as if he had heard them recently somewhere.

"And that's all I am in every dimension".

Rick still hadn't taken his hand off that shoulder. It was warm and soft.

"There is also Jock M-Morty, really".

Morty looked at Rick, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. Dedramatization failed.

Rick sighed, taking his hand away.

"What do you want, M-Morty? A cannon instead of an arm? Laser view? Super strength? A _beeeeurp_ a robotic body? What? What do you want to give up so you can be a little less you, Morty?".

The boy was momentarily taken aback. Was Rick really proposing it, or was he daring? He seemed to be weighing the idea.

"Making all these mental b-blowjobs for three fucking bullies, that’s-"

"It's not for them."

Morty had shining eyes, but they had suddenly become more distant. They didn't even look to Rick anymore.

Rick frowned.

"There's a thing you don't know."

There was a fear in Morty's eyes that Rick rarely saw. What it was? Afraid to say it or afraid to tell to himself?

For a second Rick hoped it was the same thing that scared him. Scared a God.

He took the flask out of his coat pocket, taking a long drink.

"Tell me, then".

Morty rolled over slightly on his back, astonishing the man: by now he seemed to have become an immobile cocoon.

"... It’s hap-happened in the first adventure I chose."                                     

...

Oh.

Now it was clear.

Rick lowered the flask.

Of course.

He quickly understand everything.

_They had beaten him in the bathroom._

When he arrived, he had found him bent over at the toilet. That was where it had exploded.

For a second he came back to that pub. Morty's gaze, his face, his hair. It was a disaster, and his eyes had always had something different from that moment.

Now he wanted to tell him. A confession from years before that he wanted to share now.

And he wasn't ready.

Morty was opening up to something so delicate, and Rick wasn't ready.

He didn't know what to say, nor what to do to accommodate that fragile intimacy.

He was not the right person.

"In that shitty medieval place?"

Every word he spoke made his stomach turn.

Sadistic anaffective pervert.

Morty nodded softly. His jaw trembled and he had turned pale.

"I ... I ... I ... don't ..."

The silence fell between them.

_Take him out of the way, Rick. Tell him you know. Tell him you killed him._

_Tell him you were proud of him like never before, at that time._

_Tell him how much you wanted to raze that planet for the simple fact that someone had dared to touch him, to twist him even a single hair._

_Tell him that the only one who can hurt him to death is you._

Morty began to hyperventilate, putting his hands over his eyes, trying to calm himself and reveal his secret. Rick's heart was tightening: if he knew how many secrets he had ...

"S-sorry, m-maybe n-now is not the mo-moment-"

The scientist gently took a wrist of the boy, who stopped in amazement, taking his hands off his face, looking at him between his tears and his red cheeks. He looked at his hand before his eyes.

Rick took a deep breath, in what was the maximum of empathy and sweetness he could give him. Only to him.

"I know".

Morty frowned, not understanding. Rick was very serious.

"I know because you're afraid of going to the bathroom alone."

Morty, after a moment of silence, understood. He lowered his hands, holding his breath. Rick had caught him off guard again, always one step ahead of him. He didn't expect it.

_I know everything._

"H-how ... how do you know?"

Morty stepped back, pulling Rick's wrist back.

"D-did you read my mind?"

"N-I'm not the fucking cloud of gas you kept defending, M-Morty… I know, I understood it”.

_Tell him you're proud of him. How he defended himself, how he reduced that jelly bean._

_Tell him._

Morty was staring at him, halfway between amazed and angry.

Perhaps it was better not to tell him. It was better to make him believe he had a memory, a secret, an intimate thing just for himself.

Again he had stolen the scene, preventing him from letting off steam, after he had chosen to do it with Rick.

_You did good, Morty._

_You were brave._

_You are more than you think._

_Are you the coward indeed, right Rick?_

_Do the adult, speak, reassure him. Tell him that he will be able to overcome it._

"It's over, Mo-Morty. It was a long time ago”.

Morty had entered a defensive silence. He just shook his head, as if to say that no shit had passed.

Rick raised his hand again with difficulty, bringing it close to his cheek. Morty's eyes snapped shut as he prepared himself for a slap or punch.

Rick froze in disgust. He was so afraid of him, unaccustomed to any kind of gesture that was not mockery or violence.

Struggling against himself, he placed a hand on his wet, damp cheek, rubbing a thumb under Morty's large eyes, which looked at him in amazement.

They were so big.

And he was so small.

That gesture or who knows what else was about to burst into tears again.

The trembling in his voice was barely able to understand the words: "Y-you... you knew it...".

Rick nodded.

"... and you didn't do anything ...?"

Rick's eyes hardened, but his hand remained there. It was obvious that it was the first thought that came to mind. Rick's indifference.

"I tore him apart as soon as we left that shitty planet."

Morty stared at him with wide eyes, while the tears fell silently without even blinking. Rick's hand gripped Morty's cheek. Anger made his blood boil.

"I make him explode in front of his fucking people."

_But you're like him, Rick._

Morty responded to that close, to those nails just planted in the flesh, with the sweetest gesture he could do and that Rick would never have been able to do. He took Rick's hand on hims, rubbing his own face with his eyes closed, wetting it with his tears.

Morty was ...

Morty was caressing himself.

The caress he needed and of which Rick was not able.

That simple, small gesture made it clear what Rick's genius ignored, too much egoistic: Morty's need for affection was total, desperate, and ... disarming. Rick felt that soft skin against his calloused hand, that little nose colliding with the phalanges of his long, gnarled fingers. Those hands capable of anything, of any wonder and devastation, except for something so simple.

_Stop that._

_Stop it, Morty._

That soft skin, those lips that touched his palm in tears.

Rick took his face in his hands, suddenly, bringing it closer to his. Their foreheads collided and Morty widened his eyes again, mirroring them in Rick's, serious and focused.

They were very close, so much that they could exchange their breaths.

Morty's skin was very hot.

"I can make you forget, baby."

Morty was breathing hard, but Rick didn't want to find out if it was for the excitement or the disgust of being so close.

Rick bent his face slightly, sniffing his cheek.

"I can make you forget what happened ...".

Morty swallowed: "W-what?"

Rick looked rapt, almost in ecstasy. He closed his eyes, smelling him as he had the night before, which he couldn’t remember.

"You asked me so many times ... I can also make you forget this."

Morty suddenly stopped breathing, becoming still. Rick opened his eyes, barely moving away to look at him.

He had a look of pure terror towards Rick. He just shook his head.

A noise of stairs, then someone who opened the door wide.

"What-the-fuck-did-you-do?!".

Summer.

Rick rolled his eyes before turning. Perfect timing.

"Still on the period?"

"Screw you and the period, you sent three minors to the hospital!"

"And you know what they were doing, right? Your fucking cell phone told you. "

Rick took another sip from the flask, giving Summer a sufficiently gaze.

"You-sent-them-TO THE HOSPITAL! Tony has a head injury! "

"And who the fuck is Tony?"

Summer shook her head, looking at him in shock.

"Oh. _Did I break your toy?_ ”Rick returned the dagger with the exact same words Summer had thrown at him when he saw Morty so submissive during the breakfast, the previous days.

Summer clenched her fists, going to face him. Rick got out of bed, folding his arms. The girl turned her gaze to her brother, in a sort of pause: "Are you okay?"

Morty just nodded, but didn't seem to be listening.

"What do you care if you’re defending the one that kicked him?"

"Oooh, now we're the champions of justice, Grandpa Rick? What did you have, an epiphany? Or do you want to be the only one who can do the good and the bad weather on Morty? Did they invade the camp? "

Bitch. Touché.

"Are you really defending that dickhead?" Rick's eyes narrowed to slits.

"No, but ... you fucking broke three of his ribs!"

"I-I'll give him something to get him back in shape so you can get back the lost sex, okay?"

Rick spread his arms, surrendered: what the fuck did she want?

"That's not the point".

"What is it then, Summer? Did I ruin your reputation at school? And this?".

Rick turned back to Morty, violently pushing the blanket from the boy's chest, who didn't react. He pulled down the torn high-necked sweater, revealing what he had seen in the bathroom.

Dark and large bruised fingers shaped his neck, running through it all, in a grip that had left its mark. Summer held her breath, trying not to show any more reactions. Rick watched her without letting her escape.

"Sexy, uh? Fuck, give it to him all day as soon as he recovers. "

Summer looked at him sternly, squeezed: "The point is that you can't always do the fuck you want, whenever you like."

Rick laughed, a scornful laugh at whoever just said bullshit: "I can do anything I want, especially to a jerk who-"

Morty whispered, "It was you."

"- need to understand who the fuck commands in this damned planet-".

Summer leaned over Rick, interrupting him to look at Morty: "What did you say?"

Rick turned to his grandson; he hadn't even heard him speak.

Morty was staring straight ahead before looking at Rick. He was extremely serious.

Rick frowned; what had he said?

"It was you".

Silence fell in the room, between all three family members.

Morty continued to support Rick's gaze as Summer brought her hands to her mouth.

What was he talking about?

The scientist looked at the marks on his neck. The fingers were long, sinuous.

They weren't those of those guys.

He broke their fingers one by one, he remembered them.

They were his.

Suddenly the acrid, bitter smell of vomit that was lying on the ground reached him.

He connected the points, understanding what had happened.

A flash of him that choked Morty, holding him two palms from the ground hit him with violence.

What the fuck did he do that night?

How far had he gone?

Again.

"G-Grandpa Rick, what does that mean? W-what did you do? "

Rick didn't answer, lost in Morty's eyes. They gave him no respite. They were filled with irremediable pain and something hidden, unreadable.

There were times when he convinced himself that he was his hero. His God.

Like when he killed his monster.

But it wasn't like that.

He was Morty’s monster.

Summer was still talking, asking, but Rick didn't hear anything. He only looked at those signs and Morty's eyes.

Mechanically, he took the portal gun from his pocket, opening an interdimensional vortex. He disappeared inside it, without another word.

 

 

He had looked for a place like this for a long time.

A pristine, serene, tranquil, immaculate place.

A naturalistically perfect and rich place, harmonious in its simplicity.

A place to shit.

It didn't exist, and in the end it built itself.

His toilet planet, all for himself.

In addition to emptying himself, he had sometimes gone to reflect. To get drunk in safety. To take drugs without danger. To think.

It was the ideal place to think or to relax.

To reflect.

Rick advanced with his eyes closed, touching with his fingertips the long herbaceous filaments that teased him, stroking his fingertips.

He kept walking, climbing up a small hill completely full of purple and lapis lazuli flowers. That place was lovely, totally different from his garage.

The maniacal care and perfection of that paradise designed by a painter was in stark contrast to the appearance of the garage, untidy and dirty.

Maybe it was Rick's two halves.

The ability to be able to do anything and the knowledge that everything was useless.

Rick came to the top of the hill and finally opened his eyes.

He could have seemed a man in admiration of his own creation and of himself. While he was just a tired old man who looked with detachment at the wonder of his work.

He sat on the ground, among the very tall grass stems, which almost covered him.

Those bruises were his fault.

That stutter was his fault.

Those problems were his fault.

It was all his fault.

The question when he was in prison came back to him: what did you do?

Everything.

He had been honest, it was true. He had done everything. He was guilty of everything.

He put his hand in his pocket, pulling out a very light plasma gun. He weighed it in his hands and kept on remembering.

That place was ideal to remember.

The return from the planet of Unity, the laser, the suicide attempt.

His drunkenness saved him. He fainted a second before being hit.

Then they say that alcohol kills.

He remembered what else he had been drinking that night. That yellow liquid, just a second before, the chemical formula that would put an end to everything, finally, forever.

The death of every Rick, in every existing dimension.

The most selfishly generous suicide that could ever be thought of: the end of a spiral of repeated and eternal affective violence. Abandonments, mistreatment, screams, insults. The Ricks would have been swept away by existence.

All the Ricks had been saved only by his alcoholism.

Rick looked at the gun insistently.

Perhaps the universe had to run its course. His omnipotence could also stop at his own dimension.

The scientist pointed the gun at his head.

He could decide it.

Rick closed his eyes.

Suddenly he felt the gun flying far away, while a slender weight reached him, rolling it along with him for much of the hill.

The weight was soft, definitely lower than he was and he had the smell of elder flowers, like freshly made laundry.

When they stopped rolling on the stems, Rick found himself wearing the small and light weight of Morty, who looked at him in terror.

For a moment he forgot everything. If it wasn't Rick, he would have smiled. His name, however, he said.

"Morty".

"R-Rick, n-no ..."

His eyes were bright again. Whatever he did, he always managed to make him cry.

"What?"

Rick stood up with his back, lifting himself effortlessly.

"N-no ..."

Morty threw himself around his neck, squeezing him tight and taking him by surprise. Rick was unarmed for a moment, before placing a hand on the boy's back, in what must have been a small pat. Morty was shaken by the chills and sobs.

"You ... Y-you can't ..."

"C-Calm down, Morty".

"N-You can't kill yourself, R-Rick ..."

"N-I wasn't killing myself, Morty, stop ... Stop"

Rick pulled his grandson away to face him. The scientist was uncomfortable, while Morty was shocked: his eyes were completely red, his lips were trembling. Rick looked down, noticing the large bruises on his neck, no longer covered by the sweater but with the classic yellow shirt.

His jaw hardened as Morty dried his tears with the back of his hand.

Rick took a deep breath, trying not to think he was astride him.

"R-Rick ... if y-you go ..."

"I'm not leaving, I'm not leaving, Morty, that's enough. S-stop complaining- "

"If you go away I'm no-nothing."

Yet. That phrase again.

Suddenly he reconnected that embrace to the desperate grip Morty had given him in the garden, when he returned after days.

"Why do you keep saying that? What are you talking about? "

Morty covered his eyes with his hands, breathing quickly.

"It was you".

Rick stood still. Now he remembered why that sentence was so familiar.

The stems rustled around them, moved by the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I was not satisfied with this chapter and I am not very happy even now. It had to be much longer actually, but I stopped just to think better about what should happen next. I hope you liked it!
> 
> Thank you for following the story in so many, it's very important to me, I thought it wasn't interesting! I hope for your comments to be able to talk together :)
> 
> Thanks as always to bloodrunsred; if it were not for her I would not be able to make myself understand how I would like in English.


	8. Pilot fish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And what do you think you'd ever say?  
> I won't listen anyway, you don't know me  
> And I'll never be what you want me to be
> 
> Goo Goo Dolls - I'm Still Here

It took at least half an hour for Morty to calm down and stop crying. Rick had given up saying anything after that last sentence. He was silent, simply, and welcomed the outburst of his grandson on his shoulder. A hand resting on his back was all he had to offer. But apparently, it was enough for Morty. Jeez, even a look would have been enough for Morty.

Again, Morty had fallen asleep. Exhausted, he had been leaning on Rick's shoulder, with his tears fading and sleep coming. Sleeping in the arms of his grandfather had to be the most normal thing in the world; but it never happened to them. It was the first time. Maybe the last.

Rick was not at all comfortable in this situation, totally far from his comfort zone: physical and emotional distance to light years. Slowly, he lay down on the grass, with Morty's weight on him. The boy had a clenched fist next to his face, resting on Rick's chest. He was breathing slowly, in a sleep that more than relaxed was just needed. Rick looked up, immersed in the sky of that paradise.

He was not relaxed at all.

It had all happened really quickly. The beating, Summer, the gun, the bruises.

_The bruises._

Rick closed his eyes, trying to erase the image of those long fingers on Morty's neck from his mind.

It wasn't the first time he hurt him.

It was absolutely not the first time he hurt him.

He had done much, much worse.

Morty didn't even know how many horrible things Rick had done to him.

_He doesn't know anything._

Rick looked down, studying his grandson as much as he could: he could barely see his little nose. His eyes closed, his mouth slightly open, from which a small trail of saliva came out. A dark patch had formed on the scientist's light blue shirt.

Rick was about to smile, but cursed himself when another physical reaction, stronger and more instinctive, made room. His erection began to throb, without permission. Rick clenched his teeth, feeling it press insistently against Morty's thigh. He barely moved the boy to avoid contact.

The scientist looked up again, his jaw clenched.

Morty's scent, his weight on him, that warm weight...

He was helpless. Totally at his mercy, as always, just like he was every day.

_You or him?_

Yes, he was too. There was nothing he could do against these sensations, these physical reactions. He had invented a serum to castrate his stimuli, but he hadn't wanted to take it.

He was Rick. A God is not limited. A God is not helpless.

_You are motionless beneath him, you seem quite helpless._

That attraction in Blips & Chitz had been in vain. The little voice in his mind was more irritating than ever.

Suddenly, he missed the gun.

He turned, looking at it, abandoned between the long stems.

Morty had literally jumped on him. Rick tried not to think about the annoyance of being caught off guard in HIS place, focusing on the despair with which Morty had grabbed him, knocking him to the ground.

Since when did he have that strength?

Rick didn’t hold back, running a hand over Morty's arm, stroking it. No, that was not true, he was just checking his muscles. Nothing else.

The boy hadn't changed, on the contrary, lately he seemed weaker than usual. Leaner, emaciated, pale.

It was always nice, though.

Rick turned, venting with his head the only movements he could do to not wake him up. He would have punched himself or Morty. Being trapped there under his weight was becoming unbearable.

More accurately, his erection was becoming unbearable, tight in his pants.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

Morty had grabbed him with a visceral need, holding him so tightly that it hurt. It had reminded him of that squeeze in the garden after he was gone for two days, only much, much more desperate.

_Morty needed him._

That thought shook his stomach, twisting it in a tight grip of pleasure that made his member jump, hard. Rick summoned all of his willpower in order to stop himself from grinning.

Morty was his. Morty was completely his.

_This was your idea._

It was in his power. Rick was _needed_.

_And the opposite?_

So why couldn't he have him completely?

The scientist looked down, focusing on his open, shiny mouth. He just brushed his hair away, to look at him better.

There was nothing to do. He was cute, tender. He was adorable.

_He is your grandson._

Morty moaned in his sleep, moving one leg, which rubbed hard against the man's erection. It was like an electric shock and Rick jumped, groaning through gritted teeth.

Morty opened his eyes, waking up slowly. He rubbed his eyes, annoyed.

Rick stared at him, familiar and unnecessary anger settling in his bones at the way Morty looked at him: ah, HE was annoyed?

"R-Rick?".

The scientist rotated his hips, shaking Morty off and rolling him over the grass. The man stood up, stretching his back out: he had to concentrate and make that erection disappear from his pants. He took out his flask, taking a long sip.

"A-are we still here?"

"Your astuteness moves me every t-time, _Meeourty_."

The boy wasn’t offended, too busy looking at the wonder that surrounded them. He did not get up, enjoying the paradise around him.

"W-what is this place?"

Rick took another long sip, half-eyed. He hated the fact that someone else besides him was there. The fact that Morty was the most tolerable person in his secret place didn't change anything.

"My toilet".

The boy frowned, without understanding. Apparently he didn't want to investigate, though. Good.

Rick turned slightly, looking over his shoulder: Morty brought his legs to his chest, hugging them with his own hands. It was a position that he often took lately. He raised his face to the sky.

Rick would have lied if he said he had never dreamed of having him there.

This wasn’t the situation he imagined, but in any case he had thought of him there. In every corner, in every way, in every moment, in every position-

"W-why didn't you bring us here when the Fe-Federation was looking for us?"

Rick turned completely to him, closing his coat to hide what shouldn't be seen.

"It is much better than that micro planet ...".

Morty looked dreamily at what was perhaps Rick's finest creation, causing the scientist some sort of pride.

_Because I'm selfish._

That was the answer he had to give him.

No one was admitted there, least of all his family.

"It's beautiful…".

Rick looked at him, still holding his flask. He clenched his other fist, refraining from swallowing: "Yeah".

Morty turned to him.

The wind moved the hair of both, in a silence in which both seemed to remember the previous events that had led them there. Rick took another long sip from the flask, which Morty looked at for a moment longer than necessary. Then, a shy smile curved his lips.

"T-thanks fo-for what you did at school."

...

Rick stared at him, without saying anything. He stared at that silly little expression on Morty's face, cursing it. He was about to burst out laughing, an insane and hysterical laugh.

_Thank you?_

What the fuck was he saying?

How the fuck had this kid grown up?

_Maybe you are responsible for it._

He had fallen into his room, drunk, telling him that it was absolutely worthless and putting his hands on him. And who knows what else.

Thanks his ass.

Rick wanted to punch him, completing the bullies' job. And his own.

"Summer hates me, on the other hand," he replied instead.

Summer. Who cares about Summer?

_Coward._

"S-Summer loves you, R-Rick."

Morty said it candidly, as if it were an absolute truth. Indeed it was. But it wasn't Summer that Rick wanted to talk about.

To be honest, he didn't want to talk about anything.

Fortunately, his erection had waned.

Rick put two fingers together to squeeze his nose, closing his eyes. He was tired too.

Morty seemed to get nervous at that gesture, as if he realized he had taken a misstep, but not understanding why.

"Why did you follow me here?"

Morty was silent for a moment, looking at the ground and tightening his legs with his arms.

"I was afraid t-that-y ... you wouldn't come back."

Again, that tangle of pleasure in the stomach: Morty was _his_ . He _needed_ him.

Suddenly, however, the desire to take risks reared its head.

“Maybe it's better. Have you ever thought about it? ".

Morty looked at him in confusion: Rick's gaze was distant. Though, whether that was because of the alcohol he had consumed or something else, it was impossible to tell.

"N-no, i d-don-".

"Bullshit, Morty. On that fucking micro planet, you thought so. You said it. "

Morty looked surprised: he had never come up with that speech.

_I can live without you, mom can’t._

Rick was sure of it; Morty was feeling guilty. He could see it from his eyes.

Stupid lil’ shit.

"Y-you say a lot of t-things t-too, R-Rick ...".

_You are nothing._

Rick took a deep breath before approaching Morty, towering over him. He stared at him, his eyes leaving no way out.

"You have to tell me what happened tonight, Morty."

It was an order, a command, not a request.

His eyes were cold, his mouth a fine line.

"Everything".

Morty stood up, taking the scientist off guard: he didn’t expect that reaction of ... what was it, challenge?

"W-why? S-so can you decide what to make me forget? ".

Rick barely raised his eyebrow.

He had gone on the attack.

"You decide it. You are the one who begs me, whimpering to make you forget the humiliating crap you do! ”.

"And--and the humiliating stuff you do? Do I decide to forget that too?"

_Touchè, old man._

Rick clenched his teeth, dropping the flask to the ground and grabbing Morty by the arm, stronger than necessary. He regretted it immediately.

“You have to fucking tell me what happened. Now! "

Morty stared at him angrily, before yanking his arm away. He turned away from him.

"You w-were drunk or who knows what else. Y-you entered the room, and mistook me for-for a simulation or s-something e-else".

Morty stopped. Rick was beginning to lose patience.

"And then?" He spelled between his teeth.

Morty took a breath, crossing his arms.

"N-nothing, Rick, you've lost control and ...".

Rick spun him violently, forcing him to look at him. Morty held his breath, frightened.

"What-the-fuck-happened-tonight?".

He had to know.

He had to know how far he had gone.

He had to understand what else had happened.

He had to decide whether or not to clear his memory.

_Again._

Morty wipe his eyes in fear. At that moment he seemed so small and Rick so... mean.

Then suddenly the boy's gaze hardened. Rick’s heart skipped a beat.

“You know, Rick. Y-you can see it even now. "

Rick looked down at those bruises marked on his neck, but he couldn't look at them for more than a second. He turned, leaving Morty, attacking again the flask which he recovered from the ground.

_And if there was anything else?_

"W-what is it, R-Rick? Don't even want to look at them now? Don't I--you can't even see them without drinking?"

Morty went around the scientist, going in front of him. Rick turned again, continuing to drink, beginning a provocative dance between him and Morty, in which the boy continued to place himself in front of him.

"Y-you try to make me tell you and pretend that you even care, but now you can't even look at what you did? W-wow."

Morty stood on tiptoe, continuing to stand in front of him. He coughed, having raised his voice: his throat still had to hurt. Rick's blood boiled ferociously. He grunted, in a warning sign, looking up with the flask firmly anchored to his mouth.

"Are you af-fraid of knowing wha-what else has happened?"

Yes.

"Are you afraid, Rick, to know that you said you hated me? That you told me I was nothing? That you nearly killed me?" Morty choked out a bitter laugh. "If--if anyone has the right to be afraid here, it's fucking me."

Morty coughed again.

Morty was finished? That's all? Was there really nothing else?

_Does it seem little to you?_

A sense of relief almost caught Rick in that outburst. He turned again, and Morty didn't follow him, staying behind him.

“W-why if this happens every d-day? What's different from ... always, Rick? What does it mean to you if it happened tonight if it happens every time? ".

Silence. Rick turned his back on Morty, without either of them looking at the other's expression. Morty sighed deeply and Rick twisted his stomach.

"That’s all?" Asked the scientist, regretting the question. But it had to be sure.

Morty snorted, angrily, returning behind him: “I-I'll ask you, t-then. What else s-should have happened? "

_Shit._

Rick twisted his mouth. That unpunished face made him want to slap him.

_Are you sure that’s what you want?_

Morty coughed with his mouth closed, as if not to break that moment of confrontation when he finally forced Rick  to look him in the eye.

Rick frowned.

"Does it hurt?".

Morty seemed to be taken aback, but tried to cover up. He didn't want to give to Rick the possibility to change argument.

"N-no, I-I'm fine."

Yeah, for sure.

Rick looked around, before moving to a bush just beyond. It was colored with many flowers of a bright purple, absolutely non-terrestrial. Morty frowned, watching Rick's tapering fingers squeeze the pistil of the flowers, squeezing it. A golden liquid poured on the man's palm, which began to rub it quickly, rubbing his hands: the color became even more vivid, sparkling.

Rick approached Morty, who was on the defensive, taking a step back. Rick rolled his eyes.

"R-relax, Morty, it's an _oooooointment_."

Morty raised his eyebrows.

Rick sat a little further on, on a rock sticking out between the stems.

"Come here".

The boy looked at him, without moving. He was weighing the idea and meanwhile looking at Rick's hands.

Rick sighed, rubbing his fingers with the sticky liquid.

"D-don't you think that if it were dangerous it would have hurt me too?"

“Y-you always do that, Rick. Y-you never tell me what you're doing. You just demand that I t-trust you and do everything you say. "

"Exactly. Is it so difficult? ".

Morty was silent, frowning and looking at him badly. Of course it was.

Rick sighed again, closing his eyes to stay calm.

“I repeat, in case in the chaos of this immense _crooOoOoOwd_   that surround us you didn’t hear, it is an ointment. Soothing".

Morty with a wrinkle of concern on his forehead, seemed to decide to approach. Or, at least, he understood that either with the good ones or with the bad ones he would do what he wanted. Slowly he approached Rick. He looked like a squirrel, cautious and wary.

Rick almost shook his head: why be wary if he was in a world completely created by him?

He came in front of Rick, biting his lips. An inner smile appeared to the scientist in front of that cautious and at the same time funny expression.

"Turn around. And sit down. "

Morty stared at him, as if he was asking too much now and pulling on the rope. Rick raised his eyebrow: he wouldn't repeat it a second time. Morty sighed, turning and sitting on the ground. He was lower than Rick, who was surmounting him sitting on the stone like a giant spider.

Rick looked at Morty's neck, with the bruises reaching the back of his neck.

Fuck, he had really wrung Morty's neck. Like in his fantasies.

He gritted his teeth and put his hands on the boy's throat.

Immediately, Morty tensed, holding his breath. He was ready to leap forward and run away. Rick held him back and for a moment he felt sorry. It was not possible for Morty to react normally to his touch; it was obvious to be on guard and think that he could choke him again at any moment.

_Is this why you can't hold him? Or is it an excuse?_

The man closed his eyes, feeling the boy's heart throbbing very fast, galloping the veins of his neck, mad.

The idea of provoking this reaction of tachycardic terror in people had always galvanized him. The power that caused hyperventilation even at a glance. Imagine a touch. Entire planets, monarchs, tyrants, bounty hunters, serial killers: anyone, at a certain point, had their heart exploding in front of Rick.

Morty too. Especially Morty.

It wasn't hard to provoke him, of course, but every time Morty got stressed, he stammered more than normal and cried, often causing Rick to want to drink. Hyperventilation and the alcohol content of both sometimes went hand in hand.

Not that the urge to drink was hard to provoke in Rick, of course.

With Morty, however, that sense of power was different. The feeling that, by touching him, he could disgust him, frighten him or repress him, made Rick thank himself for having invented the unlimited flask. He already felt the results of the long and quick sips of a little while ago.

"R-relax, Morty, I'm not drunk."

A little reassuring burp came out of the man's mouth, causing tension in Morty.

Rick began to massage his grandson’s neck, slowly, gently, with barely noticeable, surgical pressure. He spread the golden liquid on his neck, from the nape of it to his little Adam’s apple, wrapping it completely to absorb the liquid from the boy's skin.

Morty shivered, under what might have seemed like caresses.

_Was it?_

Rick went to massage the neck of Morty with both thumbs, feeling him flex at his touch, arching his back. A whimper from the boy led him to check if the lab coat was still closed.

Something started moving again.

"R-Ric-"

“It will make the signs disappear, Morty. And also the cough. "

_So that family won't see what the fuck you've done, huh?_

_Summer has already seen you, though._

Morty continued to breathe out sighs of pleasure, while Rick continued to massage him with his long calloused fingers, which after having hurt him so much, now treated him. They cuddled him.

There was no way Rick could do it without there being negative action before. Maybe he needed an apology.

_An excuse to touch him._

"T-thanks, Rick."

Again.

Again he thanked him.

He thought the time for the accusations would come instead. Of the recriminations, as a few days ago in the spaceship. Morty was about to explode before and now he had already calmed down.

_Maybe he's afraid you put the gun back on your head, old psycho?_

_Maybe he's the one who cares about you, never the other way around._

_Maybe you don't accept the thanks because he is at peace with himself, while you suck._

"S-stop, Morty."

That phrase came out without Rick even noticing. It was a breath, urgent. It pronounced itself.

"S-sor-"

“No thanks or sorry, M-Morty. Just ... just shut the fuck up. "

Those attentive, caring hands that continued to caress him even now that the liquid was completely absorbed. That bad, angry voice that scolded him for yet another thing he hadn't done. Living nonsense.

The boy closed his shoulders slightly, making Rick's stomach tangle and making him feel like shit.

Rick sighed closing his eyes and stopping his hands on Morty's neck.

The liquid has absorbed.

_Why don't you take them off?_

He wasn't ready to get them out of there yet. These moments were so rare ... one of the rarest things in the whole universe. And Rick knew it. And he only ruined them every time.

That soft skin, that little heart that ran fast, that warm warmth.

That perfume.

A scent of elderberry flowers, laundry, clean.

Of a Sunday at home.

Of shampoo.

Of many things. Morty's.

It was strong enough to inebriate him, to cloud his senses and make him ...

Rick opened his eyes, finding himself with his face immersed in the boy's hair.

He hadn’t noticed that he had approached.

That he was smelling him.

Breathing him.

_Fuck._

What the fuck was he doing?

_Fuck._

It was not an equivocal gesture in any other way.

What could he say? What the fuck could he invent?

_Yes, tell him it's your umpteenth experiment, it seems convincing._

_"Hey, Morty, I'm sampling the smell of every kid on earth for an investigation that Pantene commissioned me."_

_Yes, you can do it._

Morty stopped him before he could say or do anything.

"This also happened t-tonight."

Rick paralyzed himself, stopping the millions of arguments already in motion in his brain, which didn’t find the answer to the biggest dilemma of his life.

He barely moved from Morty's hair.

The boy's voice had had no particular inflection.

It was torture not to be able to watch him. Having him from behind, without being able to know his expression.

He had to know. He knew everything, regardless of the consequences. This case made no difference.

_What expression do you want him to have?_

Rick couldn't speak. He didn't know what to ask or what to say.

The wind continued to move those strange stems around them, the only sound in that silence.

"What".

It wasn't even a question. It was a continuation of the speech they had interrupted earlier.

Morty had a low voice, but Rick still could not hear the tone: "T-this ...".

Rick bit his tongue, cursing himself for inventing that stupid unlimited flask.

"Y-you smelled my hair."

Morty said it simply, describing Rick's unnatural and perverse gesture without negative adjectives or judgments.

Rick cursed Morty in that instant. He cursed his thanks, his apologies, his pardons.

It was all in his hands now. It was from Creepy Morty that things had changed, that Morty had begun to understand that something was wrong with the Rick and Morty relationship.

In their relationship.

It was up to him to make the move, direct the conversation to a no return or make it die there, again. But he didn't want the control this time.

Rick Sanchez didn't want to have the power to decide what would happen.

Moving away again, he looked at Morty's neck, again smooth and clear, with no more signs of those bruises. It was slightly shiny from the golden juice and sweat that the tachycardia was causing.

Rick chose his best tactic par excellence.

Concealment.

Everything is useless, nothing is important, everything repeats itself the same.

Rick chose the sarcasm and cynicism that saved his life every day. He took his hands off Morty's neck.

He barely laughed, with a grin worthy of the best forger.

"Fuck ... I-I was really drunk, huh M-Morty?".

Morty held his breath, tensing himself like a violin string.

Done. The unspoken was restored. They would go home as if nothing had happened, Rick would have gone smoothly for those bruises, would have given Summer a little contentment for her bully boyfriend and everything would have returned to normal.

When Morty turned to him, with all his body, it was Rick who held his breath, however, realizing that this time things would have gone differently.

The boy looked at him, facing the smartest man of any dimension, with the most serious look that Rick had ever seen in him. It disarmed him, removing all his certainty and willpower.

And Rick hated feeling like this.

"And now?".

At that moment, the wind also seemed to have stopped.

Morty had opened Pandora's box and an evil kept dormant for a long, long time, wanted to go out.

Rick thought of all the times he had to restrain himself with him.

Every night he had gone up to his room, drunk.

The times he heard him masturbate. Or where he masturbated.

When he taking a shower.

When he was very close to him, in the spaceship, where there were only them in the middle of the cold and empty space. Or on the sofa, every evening.

In every adventure where Morty's eyes shone, taken in wonder. Or every time he cried, terrified, taking refuge in Rick.

Every time he called him smiling, shouting at him, defending him, attacking him, asking him a thousand questions about anything.

Every single time he looked at him.

Whenever Morty was Morty and what Rick thought made no sense and could not be explained by any science.

Rick was getting _sick_.

Morty was in everything Rick did, every thought, every calculation.

It was the biggest obstacle to being the untouchable and limitless God he wanted to be.

No, that he WAS.

And if Morty was the last barrier to break down ...

Rick frowned, putting a hand on the boy's cheek, who didn't move or stop looking at him, just shivering at his touch.

Rick came over, looking at his mouth and pressing his lips to Morty's before he could lose his nerve.

Pandora's box had been opened.

Rick was kissing Morty.

And its flavor was something he would never forget.

That he _had_ never forgotten.

But this time Morty was awake, aware and Rick, narrowing his eyes, could see Morty's huge hazelnut gazes looking at him, wide open.

But he didn't care.

He wanted to taste him again for a long time.

_No._

He wanted to eat him.

He put his hand on his cheek to run behind his neck, in a more possessive grip. The desire for control was back.

He closed his eyes again. He didn't want to know the consequences, not in that instant.

He deepened the kiss, sucking on Morty’s lower lip for a moment, tasting his tongue.

Rick Sanchez didn't want to eat him.

He wanted to _devour_ Morty Smith.

The moment his tongue invaded Morty's mouth, his grandson moaned, squinting and bringing his hand over Rick's.

But that wasn't what struck Rick, nor was it what made his erection throb painfully.

It was the fact that Morty's tongue was _moving_ , shyly and awkwardly returning his affection in a way that only Morty could manage; innocent but so fucking filthy it made Rick's toes curl.

Morty was responding to the kiss.

And Rick hadn't calculated that in the least.

The scientist broke away from him, dedicating to the boy the amazed expression of the one who knew any secret and mystery. The man who was impossible to surprise.

Morty had red cheeks and a wet mouth. The eyes, huge and in a splendid expression halfway between fear and a desire for discovery.

He had reciprocated him(?).

The hypothesis that Morty could respond had escaped any statistics and equations ever made in the event that Rick kissed him.

That, the fact that Morty was practically kneeling before him, the place where they were, his taste on the tongue, the erection that throbbed fierce. Everything made him crazy, exciting him above all beyond measure, with the egoic and delusional belief of always winning and being able to have everything he wanted.

_It's not a competition, Rick._

To have Morty.

Rick lifted Morty, with one hand that remained firm on his neck and the other close at his side. He invaded him with his tongue, sucking and biting his, enjoying the boy's moans and whimpers, who clung to the scientist's arms with his hands, as if to stop and squeeze him at the same time.

Rick Sanchez was completely out of control.

He lifted Morty again, making him straddle him, while biting his neck. The taste of the ointment was still there, sweet, and Rick cursed it: he wanted to taste Morty, just him. He licked the neck that had almost broken less than twenty-four hours earlier, with the aim of cleaning it completely.

Morty groaned in that high-pitched, sighed voice that came out whenever he was afraid. That made Rick crazy.

Morty squeezed the man's arms again, letting his head collapse on Rick's shoulder. He was prey to uncontrolled tremors, which shook him everywhere, impossible to break.

"R-Rick ...".

Oh, fuck. He was not helping him, this was little but sure. Hear his name pronounced in that way, with that voice, in that situation.

Rick put his hands on the boy's hips, pressing them against his pelvis as he continued to torment his neck again. His hard member, trapped in his pants, collided against Morty's lower back and both were struck by an electric shock.

Morty clawed his arms, shaking his head.

"R-Rick, w-wai-".

Rick attacked Morty again, kissing him to keep him quiet, not to hear him.

Maybe it was all in his head, maybe he hadn't returned that kiss. Maybe he had moved his tongue awkwardly, to remove it, to avoid any contact.

_No._

_It wasn’t true._

_It couldn't be true._

Rick lowered the boy's pelvis again, leading him hungry towards his erection. Morty managed to turn away, escaping Rick's lips to catch his own breath.

"R-Rick, please ..."

Rick moved slightly away, watching Morty looking at him with shiny eyes and completely red cheeks, sweaty forehead. Who prayed him with his eyes and his voice.

Rick grunted, frustrated and tired, looking down to escape Morty's eyes. He rested his forehead on the boy's shoulder, still squeezing his hips, maliciously, as punishment.

He gritted his teeth, holding back and trembling with anger.

He wanted to scream. Scream against the whole universe, against Morty, against himself. Against his own perversions and against the too good taste of the boy he had above him.

He had had the solutions. Forget. Let off steam at Creepy Morty. Put on a neuronal and hormonal limiter. Change dimension. Invent something else that could fix what he had possibly broken here.

He had them. But he didn't want to. As he hadn't wanted many other things, at the cost of remaining himself, for better or for worse.

Being himself was the only thing left in the universe.

That and Morty.

But now…

Rick pushed Morty away, making him fall to the ground, and rising from that boulder, moving away. He screamed, screamed loudly in that paradise, against all dimensions and against life itself.

In the distance some birds flew away, while Rick clenched his fists, looking at the ground.

He was defeated.

He had lost.

_And who won?_

He didn't dare look at Morty, he didn't want to turn around or say anything else. He wanted eternal and absolute silence.

For the first time he felt tempted to forget.

He didn't want to see Morty's look of contempt or know the feeling that his pure hatred could give him.

He could do many things to leave his grandson alone forever. There were a thousand places where he could go and that was just one of the most beautiful.

But he didn't want to.

The idea of losing Morty was unacceptable. The idea of being…

_That's the problem, isn't it?_

Suddenly he felt Morty's small, shy hand brush against his wrist, closing his fingers around it. Rick held his breath, without having the courage to turn around.

Neither of them said anything. Morty's grip and the fact that Rick let him do it was the best that their relationship could allow.

_The boy who calmed the monster._

Rick closed his eyes, bringing a hand to cover his annoying, prickly eyes.

"R-Rick ...".

"I can make you forget, Morty."

Morty tightened his grip on his wrist imperceptibly, before letting go.

Rick gave him time to think and was not surprised when he heard the boy's sobs behind him.

He turned, seeing his tear-streaked cheeks.

Rick took it for a yes.

He slipped his hand into a pocket of his lab coat, but before he could pull it out, Morty clung to his wrist again, with all the strength he had, preventing him from pulling his hand out.

Morty looked him in the eyes with a desperate look and with a mixture of something else that Rick could not guess. With Morty his instincts sometimes seemed to be that of an ordinary man.

Between sobs, Morty took a breath to speak: "And you? D-do you want to forget, R-Rick?".

Again, Rick was taken aback. He frowned, turning completely to his grandson.

What did that question mean?

Since when did the big picture stop being clear to Rick?

He asked the most humiliating question he could ask: "W-what do you mean-"

"Answer me".

Morty continued to squeeze his wrist, leaving no way out, with a look that was no longer that of the boy he had always been.

Rick pursed his lips. He didn't know what to answer.

Yes. No. Both.

"I don't forget anything, M-Morty."

_Why don't you do it, Rick?_

_Possibility of absolute omniscience? To punish you? To protect others?_

_A psychologist would have a lot of fun._

_Maybe more a psychiatrist._

“I-I don't want to either, Rick. P-ple- ".

Rick laughed, a bad laugh, as who knows more than he says.

“Bullshit, Morty. W-we filled a room with all the memories you asked me to take off. "

Morty narrowed his eyes, shaking his head and letting him go.

Rick immediately realized what he had just said and it was he who stopped him, taking his arm. It was a game for those who blocked the other first.

"N-no ... not _these_ memories, Morty."

_No?_

Morty stared at him and Rick knew he had no idea whether to believe him or not. Of course.

"Promise."

Rick frowned, in a silent exhortation to express himself better.

"P-promise me you won't erase my memory, Rick."

Why?

Why did he want to remember?

He had asked him to remove a memory for much less, why not now that ...

_That grandpa touched you._

Rick spun around, letting go of him and trying to remove that awareness from HIS own memory.

"R-Rick ...".

Rick took a deep breath before giving as much as he could to Morty: he simply nodded without adding anything else. 

Morty sighed. Was it relief?

Rick brought two fingers together to narrow his nose with his eyes closed, concentrating. What was the next move?

Morty took it out of the hindrance, making it himself. He stood beside him, looking at him.

"L-let's go home, R-Rick."

Rick looked at him, raising his eyebrow. Morty ran a hand over his own face, wiping away the tears. It seemed like one of those requests that Morty made when he was tired of an adventure and desperately wanted to sleep, to go home safely.

_But where could he be safe now that Rick was the problem to run from?_

"O-okay?".

Morty even had the cheek to smile. A small, uncertain, but sincere smile.

Rick's stomach twisted and his heart narrowed slightly.

_Never forgive me, Morty._

Rick didn't reply, opening a portal in front of them and waiting for Morty to enter it. Just before the grandson entered, however, he stopped, turning to Rick. He looked at him with a look of accusation and insecurity. Like to urge him to move forward.

Rick sighed.

He walked towards him and they both walked through the portal togheter.

There the screams of Summer, Jerry and Beth invaded them.

 

 

The situation had been handled in a very diplomatic way.

Rick had listened to everyone's grievances with his arms crossed and his eyes half-lidded, detached.

Jerry was furious over the call from the principal who had threatened to expel Morty. Beth, on the other hand, was concerned about the report that the bullies' parents wanted to make against Rick.

Summer was strangely silent; she had just approached Morty, looking at his neck and asking him with her eyes if everything was ok. Morty smiled encouragingly. Evidently she hadn't said anything to Beth and Jerry about the bruises. Or had she told them and they didn't care? No, Jerry wouldn't miss an opportunity to discredit Rick in front of Beth.

Rick didn’t defend himself, simply saying that he would modify collective memories, making them believe that they had made a car accident, so that the situation at school could have been restored. It would have been a big job, but it was the only way to make everyone happy. Morty looked at him badly without realizing it; deleting memory was his answer to everything.

Beth immediately agreed with him and as soon as Jerry made a timid complaint, she barked at him, putting him back in his place. Summer, however, protested much more animatedly, colliding with Rick, who glared at her.

“Don't you think that your g-good reputation at school can be saved, Summer? Along with _everything_ else? ".

His gray eyes left no way out for the girl, who faced him without ever lowering her gaze. Morty envied her: he couldn't hold Rick's gaze for so long.

"My? Yours! Easy, right? A snap and Rick can start doing EVERYTHING he wants. ”

Summer gave Morty an allusive glance, making Rick's eyes narrow.

"A little hypocritical from someone who certainly went to do the red cross nurse in the hospital."

Beth turned her gaze on Summer, questioningly. This was enough for the girl to make Rick win the battle.

"Do whatever the fuck you want."

Summer turned on her heels, going up the stairs, but not before taking a long look at Morty. The brother shrugged, not understanding if that of his sister was a look of concern or anger. Maybe both.

 

It had happened at least two hours ago. Now Morty was on the couch, watching TV. He didn't know if it was multidimensional or normal. Obviously he wasn't paying it the slightest attention.

Between him and Rick was Jerry, overwhelmingly in the middle of the sofa in a vain attempt to mark his territory. Nobody took a breath, in a deep silence. Probably the only one who was following the TV was Jerry, who now that Morty was paying attention, had put on a documentary on marine life. As for Rick, it was impossible to say whether he was following or not; Morty could hardly peek at him. A beer in hand and his indifferent gaze was all that the scientist communicated.

Jerry stood up, making Morty jump.

"I hope tomorrow we can spend that famous father and son’s day together, Morty" Jerry smiled at him, before putting a hand on his shoulder. Morty took a moment to make a local mind: oh, it's true, he had promised him. He felt guilty for not keeping his word, without thinking it had been because he had been beaten by three bullies.

_And because he had plunged into a spacetime whirlwind kissing his grandfather._

"Y-yes, dad, sure." Morty nodded, before Jerry circumnavigated the sofa to go up the stairs: "Don't be up late tonight, Morty."

Morty didn't miss the fact that Rick and Jerry hadn't said goodnight.

The sound of Jerry's footsteps on the stairs, then only the TV.

They were alone.

It was the first time they were alone since...

Morty closed his eyes, trying to ignore the continuous flashes of him and Rick kissing each other, but it was useless: it was all afternoon that they hit his mind without asking for permission.

Rick's closeness, less than a meter from him, created a palpable and visible tension. It was like being near a sleeping dragon and being afraid to wake him up just by breathing.

Morty clasped his hands tightly on his thighs.

He had all but he asked for it. He had provoked Rick with questions he should never have asked. Morty swallowed: why had he gone so far? He hadn't left him a way out with those questions, just like he did at Creepy Morty.

Rick hadn't actually answered.

But he kissed him.

At the thought, Morty's cheeks immediately became warm as his stomach twisted and his breath trapped in his throat.

It was an aberrant thing, out of any family and social conception. It was disgusting, insane, perverse and shameful. It was the worst thing he had ever done. Both he and Rick.

And so why?

Why had he responded to that kiss?

Why did he like it so much that he didn't want to interrupt it?

He had felt a heat radiate inside him that shook him with a thousand chills.

Rick tasted like alcohol, sweat, smoke and something acid that he couldn’t describe. His hands had held him tight, but without making him want to run away.

A thousand questions had opened up in his head. Was he gay? No, it didn't matter if he was gay or not. Something far more absurd had happened.

Why wasn't he disgusted, like with King Jelly Bean? What was it, a trauma that had come from there and now that it happened with Rick was reflected in this way?

No, he _really_ liked it.

He would have continued to kiss him again, if it hadn't been for the sensation of that erection that pressed hard against him.

Rick was very hard.

And _huge_.

Morty cursed himself, but it was the truth: he had been afraid, as he always did. A kiss was enough to send him haywire, but he could manage his emotions. That was another thing.

Rick had listened to him, though. He had stopped.

Morty smiled inwardly, intimately happy that he had understood him and hadn’t done what he wanted, as usual, to the detriment of anyone.

_Now you thank him, you stupid asshole?_

Suddenly, his stomach tangled again, nauseating him.

Afterwards, he proposed again to forget everything, like the other night.

Who really wanted to forget? Him or Morty? Was it something he offered Morty because he didn't have the courage to do it alone? Or for what?

It was difficult for Rick not to have the courage to do something.

But the real question was another and it made Morty feel the urgent urge to vomit.

_If he could forget, did that mean it had already happened?_

The sound of the beer being drunk by Rick relieved Morty of his thoughts suddenly.

Morty looked at him sidelongly, without the scientist looking at him in the slightest glance. He just watched TV without interest. With the usual look that Rick turned to 90% of things.

A different look from what he had dedicated to him there, on that planet.

There were many times that Morty would have given anything to be looked at by someone like that.

Not like someone who meant nothing, but like someone who actually meant everything.

The idea that he was Rick, the most important man in the universe who didn't care about anything, looking at him like this...

Morty had to pinch his thigh hard, swallowing at the sensation of his lower belly moving.

That situation was paradoxical. Both on the sofa, one meter from each other, in silence, after what had happened in the afternoon.

Morty's mind went fast, full of sensations, memories, flashes, physical impressions.

What about Rick's?

For a moment, the thought that Rick wasn't even thinking about it at all touched him.

A very strong burp from the scientist shook him from his thoughts, making him go back to watching TV, hoping Rick hadn’t noticed his gaze.

He tried to focus on the fish, the sharks, or what the fuck the documentary was about.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to pick up the narrator's sentences.

"... the pilot fish is a saltwater fish, the only exponent of the genus _Naucrates_. It is widespread in temperate and tropical seas around the world ... ".

Yes, the pilot fish, yes.

"... He often takes refuge under the umbrella of jellyfish, living with them...".

Right, good pilot fish.

"... but it is its relationship with the sharks that is truly noteworthy. Their relationship is described as _symbiotic_. "

Morty opened his eyes, observing the image of a large shark, to which a small pilot fish swam nearby.

"It is extremely rare for a shark to eat a pilot fish, barely noticing its existence and also for the service that the little one does to the predator."

Morty's stomach twisted annoyingly.

“The pilot fish, in fact, is a sort of _parasite_ which however provides a useful cleaning service to the shark. You can even see it swimming in the shark's mouth, cleaning it from food residues, leftovers, parasites and sometimes even feeding on its _excrements_. "

Morty got up on the sofa, suddenly uncomfortable.

"In return, the pilot fish gets _protection_."

Morty tried in every way to cover up his run to the stairs, but without worrying if Rick was watching him or not. He hurried up the steps, suddenly entering the bathroom and closing himself inside.

He bent over the toilet, in the only bathroom where he could feel safe.

He grabbed the tablet and looked at the water, where he saw everything: Tony, King Jelly Bean, Rick who kissed him, Rick who touched him, Rick who choked him, Rick who-

Morty broke into a gagging, vomit obscuring the water previously clear. The boy freed himself, continuing to vomit, until he had only water to pull out of his stomach.

Morty knelt on the ground, hugging the toilet so as not to collapse completely on the ground.

A trickle of drool connected his mouth to the ceramic, while panting hard, trying to recover.

_Pathetic._

_He was pathetic._

All those questions about Rick; the pathological need for attention and reassurance. All this had led him to give Rick the only thing he could still say was his.

The space that the man occupied in his mind, every day and night, for better or for worse.

Morty was about to burst into tears, before seeing the light changing under the crack in the door. Someone was in front of the bathroom.

Morty held his breath, not knowing what he hoped for most: whether Rick opened the door or not.

"Anyone in the bathroom knows that I have finished a whole package of dried plums."

Jerry.

Morty narrowed his eyes, holding back his tears and covering his face with his fists closed.

_Who did you expect?_

"Is there anyone?" He knocked.

Summer, from the other room: "Dad stop screaming and go downstairs!".

Jerry grumbled something, but it worked: he left, leaving Morty alone.

Morty started to cry, but without making a sound. It was one of those silent crying, without a sound, that hurt your chest from the force with which you hold back any cry or hiccup.

He had made a mistake .

He had made a mistake to let him do it. To respond to that kiss. He had been wrong not to forget everything.

He shouldn't have allowed Rick to do that too, on himself.

But maybe if he didn't, Morty wouldn't understand how visceral the need to know what Rick thought and felt was. What he felt about him.

_You are nothing._

He wouldn’t have known the fear and desperation to understand that maybe the problem was just that.

Rick felt nothing.

Morty felt everything.

He felt too much.

He didn't know what, but it was too much.

 

**Wonderful art by @Hajime_Hinata01 on Twitter!<https://twitter.com/Hajime_Hinata01>**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!  
> I'm really sorry for the wait, but it's an important and complicated chapter and it has put me in a bit of trouble. Thanks as always to bloodrunsred for helping me with the translation and for the very useful opinions :)  
> I hope you like the story, there is a piece of me in here that I still have to understand where it is. I am curious to know your opinions.  
> From now on, everything changes between Rick and Morty.


	9. Touching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW Warning

_"R-Rick ... P-please, I c-can't stop thinking about it ..."_

_Morty was biting his nails. This was new, in addition to stuttering._

_Rick was bent on the work table, on an invention he was looking at sufficiently, his mouth bent in a grimace._

_"M-Morty, I'm working and you're really, really fucking me with this eeeurp story."_

_"B-but Ri-Rick-"_

_"B-b-but R-Rick !!" Rick turned to him, making the sound, stammering. He never did and it was one of the things Morty liked most; Rick never commented on his handicap._

_Morty frowned, offended. He was silent for a moment, which deluded Rick into thinking that he could return to his invention._

_Naive._

_"P-please, i-it takes a moment, I-I know that you could if you w-want, I-I don't ..."._

_As Rick rubbed his eyes, holding back a headache, Morty paused before sighing deeply._

_"I really can't ..."_

_The scientist stood with his hand over his eyes, before lowering it and looking straight ahead._

_Ok._

_"Are you sure you've tried?"_

_Morty paused again, looking down. Then he scratched his arm, slowly nodding._

_Rick turned to him again. When he put his hand on his arm, looking down, Morty unknowingly lowered Rick's defenses. Saying that it tenderized him was strong as a sentence, but it certainly increased the success rate of the boy's business._

_Rick swiveled with his chair, facing his grandson frontally. He peered at him with a strange harshness that made Morty even more difficult to look at him._

_But Rick wasn't judging him. He was judging himself. His spoiling Morty, erasing his memories almost every time he asked._

_Perhaps, after all, it also satisfied his delusion of omnipotence._

_He had to admit, however, that this time it was difficult to swallow._

_He hadn't seen what had happened directly, Summer had explained to him._

_"Mom chose me, not him."_

_Parents have no preference._

_Bullshit._

_Beth was living proof of this._

_Morty looked at him hopefully, his eyes shining, veiled with sadness._

_No._

_He wasn't spoiling him._

_The truth was that Rick contented him with selfishness._

_The idea that Morty changed, losing that naivete, losing his being at the mercy of Rick and the universe, made him feel repulsed._

_He already knew that feeling, and never wanted to try it again._

_Morty was supposed to remain Morty._

_He had already changed enough._

_"You have to tell me why you're sure, M-Morty."_

_That was the final test. Morty had to say it out loud because he wanted to forget. He had to analyze himself._

_Sometimes it even happened that he changed his mind. But in the end, the final choice was up to Rick. Always to Rick._

_Morty frowned, defensively, "W-why?"_

_Rick pulled the pistol from his pocket to erase his memory, tempting him._

_"Because I asked for it"._

_The boy remained silent, looking Rick in the eyes, annoyed. Then he looked down again, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes._

_He was humiliating him, he knew it, but if he had to spoil him, at least Morty had to deserve it._

_"I-I don't want to know I'm the se-second choice."_

_Rick was silent, looking at him._

_Morty had the worst shrink in the world._

_"I don't ... I don’t want to know that mom doesn't care about me."_

_Morty looked at Rick with a strange expression. He was very serious, but seemed to allude to something hidden and unspoken._

_Without knowing why, the scientist felt guilty._

_"I don't wanna, R-Rick."_

_It was strange to think that what should have been a boy's whims were actually something much bigger than he was._

_Morty was biting his lips, his chin trembling, imperceptible. Before long he would have tears in his eyes._

_He was so close to Rick, who could have hugged him, squeezed him, reassured him, cuddled him, just as Morty could have done. But it was impossible. The wall between them and the nature of their relationship (no, Rick's) didn't allow it._

_Rick decided to go beyond his limits, for once._

_Morty wouldn't remember._

_"I would have chosen you, Morty."_

_Rick said it in a whisper, in a very low voice. Morty opened his eyes in a flash, like it would help him hear and understand what Rick had said better._

_"W-wha-"_

_A flash and Morty's eyes turned white for an instant, which was enough for Rick to hide the invention._

_He had often thought of approaching him in those short moments of blackout._

_He never did, however._

_He was not one of those people who could taste a slice and then stop eating all the cake._

_As Morty's pupils and irises became visible again, Rick turned to his work surface._

_"Hmm?  W-what did you say, Rick? ”Morty asked, confused._

_"That you piss me off, Morty."_

 

 

Rick had been mixing his cereals for at least half an hour. Aliens cereals, of course.

The milk had become one with that yellow pulp. It looked like vomit.

Fortunately, he had no intention of eating.

He was doing nothing but repeating mechanical actions, so much so that they could have mistaken him for the Rick with the family interaction chip. Oh god no, it would have been nicer.

Obviously, Rick hadn't slept a wink.

Seeing Morty escape upstairs had macerated his stomach.

They hadn't lasted three minutes in silence alone on the sofa without the boy feeling the urge to escape.

It was early in the morning and Morty was still in his room. It was Sunday, by the way, so he wouldn't even go to school.

Maybe if it wasn't for Rick who threw him in some portal, he would have passed it all on the bed between porn and TV series.

That Sunday would probably have gone like this.

There was no way for Rick to go upstairs.

And maybe not even Morty would go down.

The scientist abandoned the spoon in the milk, returning to the memory he was thinking of a little while ago.

Morty had asked him to erase his memory for much less.

Of course, the very least was still serious, but not like grandfather kissing you. That was definitely an experience to be canceled.

So why not this time?

Why not that memory?

Rick had calculated every possible rational implication and they all focused on defense: the awareness of having an enemy at home.

Only the irrational implications remained.

_He wants you. He responded to the kiss._

No. It wasn't possible.

_He is sick like you._

No. He was wrong.

_You are never wrong._

He hadn't returned him in that obscene act. There was no point trying to drag Morty into that unspeakable fantasy too.

He was just a kid. An inexperienced boy who was trying to avoid his tongue or who had been afraid and indulged him.

And he was just an old sick psycho.

"What a waste of Freeblaps."

Summer.

The girl sat down next to Rick, placing a cup full of milk and Rick's cereal on the table.

Rick glanced at her sufficiently, without answering. Out of pride he sent down a spoonful of that pulp. Ew.

The girl shrugged, pouring them: "I like crunchy stuff".

"Thanks, I-I couldn't live without knowing something I didn't ask for."

Rick took another spoonful, stubborn.

Yuck.

"It takes a breakfast of champions before going on a hunt for memories."

"I already did, Summer," Rick said almost spicy, as if someone had had no respect for his work. Summer, in fact, looked at him in amazement.

"Already!?".

Rick crossed his arms, twisting his mouth and chanting every single letter: "Sure".

"…  It's that simple?".

"No. It is extremely complicated. In any case, you can start again to give it a go with that jerk. "

Summer looked at him sideways. If there was someone who had to preach here, it was her.

If they had been a normal family, Rick's would have been a grandfather's lecture about dating the wrong boy. But Rick was the wrong person in general. That Tony compared to him was nothing.

The real reason it wasn't a lecture, though, was perhaps the fact that Summer and Rick respected each other. Among them there was a silent estimate, ascertained, but not expressed. The relationship he had with her was profoundly different from what he had with Morty (considering also thoughts he shouldn't have had with him either). Summer was smart, aware, badass, just like Rick and Beth. He could not help treating her as equal, as far as he obviously could.

That was why, at that moment, he decided to ask her what was hovering in the air as soon as she entered the room.

"Why didn't you tell them?"

It was obvious what he meant.

_Why didn't you tell Beth and Jerry about the bruises I did to their underage son?_

Summer looked at him, without bringing the cereals to her mouth anymore. Her cereal was also becoming a shapeless pulp. It was the fate of that breakfast.

In her eyes, Rick read something strange. It was a kind of... acquired helplessness. Something Summer was aware of, but that didn't suit her. On which, however, she could do nothing.

Rick had read it in the eyes of Unity, of Beth, of the thousands of people who he had approached or moved away from his life, injuring them.

_It's what happens when someone loves you._

"Because I only need to know."

That phrase hit Rick's bare nerve, but he didn't show it to his granddaughter at all. The weight of remembering alone and being the only one to know.

Yes, he and Summer looked alike.

Suddenly, the granddaughter's gaze became sharp and icy.

"And because I know it will never happen again."

That was not a hope. It was an explicit order.

Rick was silent and the two stared at each other without saying anything else.

Yup.

They looked too much alike.

The sound of someone going down the stairs broke that moment of challenge between the two.

"Father and soooooooon day!" Jerry's voice in seventh heaven rang in the hall.

Rick turned, looking at Jerry's stupid smile stretching his face. Behind him, Morty.

When Rick saw him, his heart skipped a beat. He had frightening dark circles and red eyes.

If he hadn't known for certain that he didn’t smoke weed, he would have thought it was high.

Morty looked at him for a second. Embarrassed? Afraid? Disgusted? Guilty? What the hell was it?

He immediately hid behind Jerry, looking down.

At that moment, Rick hated him. He hated him deeply, just like he hated Jerry. His face expressed nothing, but the knuckles of his right hand creaked.

The two left the house and Rick was so lost in his mind that he wasn't even listening to Jerry's stupid screams.

 

 

Jerry often went to fixations. They were more or less temporary, like golf with the Meeseks, but they lasted the right time to be incorporated at least once, in accompanying him.

That was the moment of tennis.

He hadn't told Beth that he had bought some expensive Babolat rackets, one for himself and one for Morty: it was a little secret he kept with his son, whom he had secretly bought some under-the-counter hentai comics for.

They weren't ready for the games yet, though. Theoretically, not even for the ball shooter, but something had to start.

The dull sounds of the balls hitten by Jerry (far less than those crashing into the net behind them) rang in Morty's head along with his father's words, distant.

All the way in the car and even now, he had done nothing but think about what had kept him sleepless all night.

Rick.

He often kept him awake, but in a practical sense, transporting him to unpronounceable dimensions and planets in the middle of the night.

It was amazing how his absence managed to be louder than his presence.

The thoughts, the physical sensations, the questions, the hopes, the fears: it was all so mixed and intrusive as to hurt his head.

The thing that hammered him most, however, was the very rare event that had happened in those weeks: Morty had been right.

At Creepy Morty it hadn't been all his mental movie, which went well with his secret perversions. He was right. The intuition that there was something insane in there was correct.

And apparently it was also about them.

He shook his head, clutching the racket in his hand.

No. It wasn't possible. Maybe Rick was drunk again and had confused him with someone else, like when he thought he was a simulation.

_But please, he wasn't even tipsy._

Then maybe it was that ointment. Yes, maybe it was a sexual stimulator or something.

_And Rick didn't know? Of course ..._

Or maybe ...

_Maybe he likes you._

Morty nearly laughed.

Morty? Being liked by Rick?

This not only made no sense for their blood relationship and for their distance of age (despite these social formalities for Rick didn’t count at all, or almost nothing). It didn't make sense because... because Morty was insignificant.

The boy brought the racket to his chest, feeling an unpleasant sensation making his shoulders shiver.

How could Rick be interested from THAT point of view? He wasn't handsome, he wasn't tall, he wasn't smart, he wasn't nice, he wasn't clever. He wasn't cultured, he wasn't muscular, he wasn't charming, he wasn't sexy. He wasn't even particularly gifted, although this (maybe) Rick couldn't have known. Okay, he had reached hormonal maturity relatively recently, but compared to the boys he had seen in the locker room it was depressingly normal.

Fuck, he wasn't even blond or blue-eyed.

And so why?

Why would he be liked by the terror of the multiverses, the smartest man of any dimension, the Rickest Rick, the God of destruction that nobody could stop?

Instead of thinking that his grandfather was a perverted maniac, Morty Smith was wondering why he had chosen him. Madness was in the family.

He couldn't help but wonder. Rick had literally fucked whole planets. Morty had seen him enter brothels with the security of knowing he was welcome, the master of the house, surrounded by the most beautiful alien races ever seen. He could have who he wanted when he wanted, without even the need to use force.

Why then had he kissed the one person in his life who was worthless?

The most insignificant being in the universe, perhaps second only to Jerry.

Rick himself said it and thought it, he never missed an opportunity to demolish Morty, inside and out.

The chasm in the center of his chest returned to make itself felt, making him feel helpless.

_You are nothing._

...

The way he had held him, however, didn’t make him feel like nothing.

It had made him feel like something, someone.

He still didn't know what, but it was as if he had made him... three-dimensional, concrete, existing.

The mere fact of being touched, kissed and tight made him feel the flesh he was wearing, as if it had been the first time.

And the fact that it was Rick ...

His brain had already gone into orbit the moment he was smearing the ointment on his neck. Those long, gnarled fingers, which caressed him, but above all _cared_ for him. Rick who looked after him, soothing his wounds.

_He was the one who hurt you, though._

He had barely managed to contain his moans and gasps, ashamed as fuck for being so sensitive to Rick's hands that, for once, instead of pushing him, hurting him, were cuddling him.

He had never experienced such a sensation.

Loser.

He hadn’t been able to hide and hold back, thanks to the annoying and persistent erection that had begun to inflate his jeans and which, thank God, Rick had not realized. Maybe.

Morty loosened his grip on the racket, lowering it and making it touch the red earth of the field.

"-Orty".

Then that documentary. The silence on the sofa. The vomit. The panic attack in the room at four in the morning when he wondered if he shouldn't forget.

But he didn't want to forget.

Morty desperately wanted to exist, even if it hurt.

And existing mean remembering.

"MORTY!".

Morty jumped, feeling Jerry's hand shake him by the shoulder. How long had he been talking to him?

"What's the matter, Morty? You missed my super shot! I almost broke the machine!".

Morty looked at his father, bewildered. Fuck, he was growing even more detached and distant as they days passed.

"O-oh, g-good dad! How many have you ta-taken?".

Jerry frowned, as if he was annoyed that he asked him, despite knowing: "That."

Morty looked around for a second: they were literally surrounded by balls, there were at least fifty of them.

Jerry snorted, pushing him forward to the receipt post: “It's up to you, Morty. I'll collect them for you, settle down. "

As Jerry collected the balls, Morty sighed, barely loosening the muscles in his arms and neck. Why did he have to play sports? He was uncoordinated, slow and lazy. Already the adventures were all the activity he could endure.

Assuming he still had to endure them. 

His stomach twisted, even making a gurgling sound. It was a day and a half that he didn’t eat practically, thanks to the vomiting of the night before.

He wasn't hungry, though. At all.

"Ready? GO! ”Jerry activated the tennis balls machine, which fired the first ball at full speed. Too bad Morty was distracted.

The yellow missile hit him straight on the cheek, turning his face as if someone had just punched him.

Morty took the blow with a dry moan, turning, while Jerry held his breath, blocking the machine.

Holy shit, seriously?

“Holy crap Morty, did you hurt yourself?" Jerry's eyes were wide and he was about to snap in his direction. Laughter from the nearby fields drew Morty's attention, who didn't turn to look at who was poking fun at him. The pain and surprise of the blow made his teeth and fists clench on that stupid racket.

Fuck tennis and fuck Jerry.

And fuck Rick.

And fuck Morty

Fuck Morty.

"Stop".

Morty's voice stopped the father. The boy moved into position, raising his racket. He had a furious and determined look. Jerry looked displaced.

Morty nodded and the father went to activate the machine.

The balls began to arrive and all the repressed anger spread from Morty’s racket, which struck them with unprecedented violence.

Laughter stopped, while the fast and powerful sounds of the blows echoed in the field, making the net vibrate with each impact.

Morty Smith scored a three in physical education, but the adventures had given him coordination, strength and agility of which he had no idea.

Rick had managed to change his physique without Morty even noticing.

 

 

Stupid kid.

Stupid jerk with a jerk father.

Rick continued to drain his flask, which obviously showed no sign of finishing. He was driving wrong. No, ok, he was in space, there was no straight line.

He still had his stupid, idiotic and bloody smell on him.

It wouldn’t let him work, let him think, wouldn’t even let him watch a trash program that kept him busy for five minutes.

He could only think of those sighed moans and the flesh on his hips that he had tightened so hard that it hurt him, to push him against his hard and demanding cock.

And, of course, he thought about that tongue.

He couldn’t find peace.

Had he moved it or not, for fuck’s sake?

The scientist punched the steering wheel hard, gritting his teeth.

Rick Sanchez never had doubts.

He was sure of everything and everyone. That uncertainty was something uncomfortable and unusual, which went to pinch him at the base of the neck, without letting him sleep. Something he didn't feel from what seemed like centuries, if only for the simple fact that NOTHING was worth even the possibility of faltering.

It was humiliating and nobody could humiliate him. Or at least, tell it. Or remember it.

A crash and Rick "parked" the spacecraft on the red earth of the planet with two moons where he had just landed. Incredible that he and Morty were both on a brick-colored soil, without knowing it.

In front of him, what appeared to be a shabby space bar. The neon signs seemed to be a clichè that united the taverns of the whole universe; he should have studied the phenomenon.

The place didn't seem to have anything special, but it was the birthplace of Firrups, one of the most powerful cocktails in the galaxy, made with the nose of a mole who lived only there. It had highly hallucinogenic or aphrodisiac effects, it depended on the alcohol level you already had in your blood. Besides, that was the favorite place of ...

" Rick Sanchez! You psycho bag of squanch!".

Rick couldn't help smiling, a fair and honest smile. Whoever managed to print it on his face was one of the few people in the universe that Rick would not have wanted to kill, but someone for whom he would have given his own life.

Rick and the big orange cat came closer, knocking their fists togheter in an exclusive greeting, created several years ago.

"Eeeehi, Squanchy, whassap?".

"The usual shit aside for that squanch."

"Oh, is it going well?"

"No, it's worse than the usual shit!"

The two burst out laughing, heading for the bar that had seen the worst and the best of them, home to their meetings, their drinks and their adventures. Rick's life before Morty, Summer, Beth.

It was their fucking bar.

Their place.

"Well, let's forget about it, motherfucker."

"Squanch!"

 

"Molamolamolamolaolaaaaa!"

In unison, Rick and Squanch downed two Firrups in succession, each. The hymn was the fashionable toast on the planet that they had repeated in their lives more than was correct to do.

Spurred on by a small group of different races around them, the two did what they did best when they were together: show off by going to the limits of their limits.

Squanchy's fur was completely raised, while Rick's eyes had turned dangerously close to the purple color that covered his entire sclera.

They threw the glasses against the wall, which pulped like clay. An excellent solution by barmen to avoid glass shards. He could have patented it on Earth and made a lot of money out of it.

"Too much squaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanch!"

"Fuck, this is squanch!"

The two were galvanized by alcohol, by drugs, but above all by the crowd that surrounded them. It was their best gas, which brought them back to the glories of The Flesh Curtains, where the audience screaming at their feet diverted them from everything that poisoned their existence. Awareness, love, loneliness.

Rick clapped a hand on the table, letting himself slide on the chair and tilting his head back. Squanchy jumped on the table and turned to the crowd, thanking their temporary motivators with an ironic bow.

The cat jumped back on the chair, while Rick brought his hands behind his head with a grin.

"Ah fuck, we shouldn't do it every squanch."

"God damn it, I'm so squanched...".

"And despite the fact that you're so fucking squanched, the Federation has still not been able to find you..." Rick looked at him with a smug smile.

Squanchy raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended: "Did you lose faith in me, Rick?".

Rick raised his hands and shook his head, ironically denying.

Then, a moment of silence.

"Those pieces of squanch". Squanchy scratched the wood of the table, with a grunt in his throat that looked almost like a snarl. He had suddenly become serious and Rick became so with him. Their eyes, totally devoid of sobriety, made a strange union with that dark expression.

Those two were frightening, actually. The madness in their eyes, had a repressed anger that as soon as it could explode it would devastate everything that was within their reach.

Revenge was best served cold, but this wasn’t their philosophy. Everything and immediately, all or nothing, always risk: minimum time and maximum impact. And it was already too long that the Federation had gone unpunished. That the bitch had gone unpunished. That he was...

Rick and Squanchy remained silent for a moment, before making the same gesture: they asked for another turn, raising their hand. When it arrived shortly after, a silent toast was consumed more slowly.

To Birdperson.

There were a thousand dimensions, a thousand possibilities, a thousand different themselves. Rick knew, that was why nothing was worth a shit. The reason why his brain was screwed behind the idea that everything was infinitely replicable, and nothing could be lost and that therefore nothing really mattered.

Yet he couldn’t do it.

It was respect, perhaps.

They weren’t replaceable. Regardless of the dimension they belonged to.

Once gone, they would end. Forever.

Maybe they had even promised each other, long ago.

_We are not replaceable._

The heat of the alcohol gave them both a shock, bringing them back, as far as possible, to reality. They weren't meant for sentimentality.

At that moment, for an instant, Rick missed Morty. Obviously the thought bothered him, but the intoxication made him enjoy that nostalgia for a moment.

"What's squanching, Rick?" Asked the cat, taking another sip from the glass. It was perhaps the first principle of normal speech since they were there. Fuck, how long were they there?

Rick shrugged, laying back on his chair, backwards: "Well, usual bullshit...".

"Morty?".

Rick was silent. That was not a question of circumstance, as any other person could have asked him. How is your grandson? Ah yes, well, thank you, it's delayed, but everything is ok. Stop.

That question hid many, many nuances. So many that silence made Squanchy's tail stand up, and he turned completely to Rick, as if urging him to speak.

Rick turned to him, with a look that meant everything.

Squanchy opened his eyes wide, with his pupils becoming a vertical slit, just like those of the cats: "Squuaaaaaaaanch?!?".

That interjection was followed by one of the most vulgar swear words ever invented in any dimension.

Rick turned, annoyed, with a grunt that scratched his throat.

“Oh no, Rick, you have to tell me. I want every squanch." Squanchy jumped over the table, standing in front of Rick with his mouth wide open." What the squanch happened? "

Rick only looked at him for a moment, before crossing his arms: "It happened, what the fuck do I have to tell you?".

"What happened?".

Rick clenched his jaw: it was a paradoxical situation. They were the fucking Warriors of Liberty, two of the most wanted in all the galaxies, and now they were there to talk about the unpronounceable as if they were two girls at the first fuck. Obviously it was not a normal situation, of any other person they wouldn’t have spoken like that. To be honest, they really wouldn't have spoken at all.

It was only because it was Morty. And Morty wasn't any other person.

"You're not going to masturbate in a closet with a noose around your neck after this revelation, I hope."

Squanchy looked at him in disgust: "Now don't give me the squanch just because you're a psychopathic piece of squanch and you don't want to tell, Rick".

Rick closed his eyes, bringing a hand to cover them, and then sliding it through his hair: “Listen, I don't want to talk about it. Let's just say he knows. "

"And what the squanch did he say?!".

_Rick. Rick, P-please ... R-Rick._

Fuck.

If he thought about what he had actually said, his cock came back hard at the mere memory.

He took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes.

"He said ... H-he doesn't want _beeeurp_ he doesn't want to forget."

Squanchy widened his yellow, stunned eyes. Rick looked at him sideways: he didn't want to talk about it, but the idea that he could have an external opinion on what had happened was not bad. On an emotional level, he was willing to lower his pride a bit and, MAYBE, even ask for advice.

"But how did he react? And how the squanch did it come up? I mean, it had to happen sooner or later, it was clear... but how? Like last time?".

Rick looked at Squanchy at last, although he didn't seem to see him either. He pierced him with his eyes, lost in one of the many memories he had kept for himself. Then he said grimly, "No. Not like the other time. "

The cat pricked up its ears and tail: "So he reciprocated? Did he agree? Oh squanch... ".

"N-don't ... I don't know if he returned… what I feel... ugh, fuck!! I didn’t understand a fucking thing, okay? Now that boy does nothing but avoid me, making me feel... I would simply slam him on the wall and punch him- ".

"Yes, punches, of course. Anyway, I don't want the erotic details of your squanch, but fuck it anyway... Fuck Rick, it happened. "

Silence.

"Maybe it was even the time, Rick."

Rick leaned against the table, holding his forehead with one hand. Fuck, he was really, really drunk. He couldn’t concentrate, but also for what good? There was no solution. There was no answer.

"This squanch was rotting inside you."

Rick was silent, lost in the total absence of lucidity. Showing that side of him like that, especially on Morty, was something he had only managed to do with Squanchy and Birdperson. Only they knew everything. They had not judged, just as Rick had never judged them.

The idea that he had encountered them among a thousand dimensions, planets, galaxies, reality and destinies, was one of the very few things that kept him anchored to life. Sometimes he thought they were the only people made especially for him in the multiverse.

"How are you?".

"How the fuck do you want me to be...".

Rick looked at him. He was tired, his dark circles had reached a disturbing color and the expression lines on his forehead seemed furrows. Rick was tired, he looked older than usual. But above all, he was worried. He seemed almost lost. It was not easy to see him that way, indeed. It was rarer than a six-eyed Parrax.

Squanchy also looked worried, in fact. He didn’t know how to take him, despite being his lifelong friend. Morty was always a complicated matter. Rick's strongest hangover had always lived because of Morty. Once they even blew up the historic venue of a jazz trio just because the band was dressed in yellow...

"... I'm squanched."

Rick swallowed, also taking his head with his other hand.

Maybe it was he who had to forget. Maybe he had made a mistake not to detach some synapses in the right place so as not to feel what he didn't have to feel anymore.

Morty was making him sick.

He was poisoning his blood, going to occupy all the huge, immense space of his mind, which became extraordinarily and desolately... _common_ , when he was grappling with him.

He knew nothing, understood nothing and felt too much.

He was at the mercy, uncontrolled. Not being in control made him mad... he had to decide what would happen and how. When, why, where. If.

Rick clasped his hands in his hair, narrowing his gaze towards the table.

The lack of control made him do things he (sometimes) regretted.

It made him mean.

Squanchy respected his silence, observing that poor bastard with the clean compassion that only a friend could feel. He sighed, thinking back to the same truth as before: Morty was a complicated matter.

"What do you think to do?"

Rick took a deep breath, pulling himself together on the chair, letting his hands drop from his face to the table. It was impossible to behave in that state, so why try it?

"I think I want ten more, until I'm a fucking squanch."

 

 

He felt like a thief. He felt like a thief in his own house.

He had entered the house with Jerry with a heart in his throat, wary, sneaking into his room like a cat with the excuse of having to pee. He didn't even know who was at home. If Rick was at home.

It had been three hours in there, in his own room.

His cheek and jaw fucking hurt. The flesh was swollen and vaguely livid. Fortunately the teeth were fine, nothing had happened.

But that pain and being trapped in the room frustrated him. All they did was leave him alone again with his own thoughts.

What was he supposed to do? Rotten there forever? Or wait for Rick to enter his room, maybe again in the middle of the night and maybe drunk.

_It almost seems that you are hoping for it._

Morty remained silent, sitting on the bed, looking at his feet.

Again, that feeling of being totally helpless that made all the muscles of the body vibrate unpleasantly, in a sensation that dragged him down.

What did he want from Rick? What was he to Rick and what was Rick to him?

The hatred and need he felt for their relationship were equal and both terrifyingly high.

Two days were enough when Rick had gone to plunge him into an abyss of emptiness and fear. The Creepy Morty had been enough to put him in front of his own terrors and fantasies that he was struggling to admit to himself. A kiss was enough to... to question everything.

Morty clenched his head in his hands. Why hadn't they taken him to a psychologist? He knew he needed it since he was a child, but there was no way: his mother's constipated emotion preferred to castrate those needs rather than welcoming them.

Again, that feeling of being sick. He still hadn't eaten anything.

He couldn’t stay there forever. He had to face Rick somehow. He knew he was pulling the rope; Rick hated being ignored and sooner or later he would explode too.

The truth was, Morty was afraid to wake up one day without remembering anything.

_And isn't it better?_

It would have been hypocritical to say that in those hours he hadn't thought a single second of having made a mistake not wanting to forget.

But that phrase had bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Maybe he couldn't have forgotten it even if Rick had wanted to.

_We filled a room with all the memories you asked me to take away._

What the fuck was he talking about?

The boy stood up, clenching his fists. He had found his motivation to get out of that room.

 

 

A ninja would have been envious. Even a secret agent.

Morty had slipped into the corridor in grave silence, heart in his throat as he passed Rick's room, dimly lit and with the door half open. He had heard the spacecraft coming back: it had to be there.

He went down the stairs without a single noise, hearing Beth in the kitchen fumbling with the pans. Summer and Jerry were in front of the TV, engaged in a one-way conversation.

Hell, he had become good. After today's tennis training and with this outing, he realized he had to thank the adventures. Surely they had skilled him. At least there was a positive aspect of being tossed about in every corner of the universe, without the slightest perception of what was happening.

Morty went down to the garage, slowly opening the door which creaked loudly. The boy slipped inside, without turning on the light. He pulled the door again and turned on the cell phone flashlight.

His eyes narrowed and the first thing he saw was the spacecraft: it was impossible not to see it the way it was parked. Completely crooked and with new dents. The work table was almost completely overturned.

Morty felt his heart pounding furiously in his throat, so loud that he was afraid it made a noise.

_A room with all the memories._

Where the hell could it be?

Morty turned with his flashlight, illuminating everything around him. The garage was a total disaster regardless of the chaos created by the spacecraft. Rick was never completely ordered, but that mess was hard to see. Generally it meant either that Rick was particularly focused or that, on the other hand, he was absolutely unable to get to work.

Morty snorted slightly, frustrated. He knew several levers and hiding places in the garage, but secret rooms... of course, there was the trap door that led downstairs, but it was another maze. He had to try, though.

He had to understand what he had asked to forget. What could have been worse than what had happened?

_It wasn't too bad, liar ..._

Morty swallowed, before opening the keypad to type in the sequence that opened the trap door below. Holding his breath, he entered the first sequence of the code, stopping soon after. His gaze shifted, while the cell phone light remained fixed on the keypad.

He thinned his eyelids, observing a familiar green glow hidden under the stuff piled on the table. He approached, leaving his cell phone where it was, which now illuminated the ceiling.

He grabbed the tools that covered the light, revealing something he had never seen too far from Rick.

The portal gun.

Morty held his breath, taking it in his hand and being illuminated by that phosphorescent green glow.

The immensity of the cosmos and multidimensional in his hands, only in his hands.

Morty just squeezed it, already knowing where he wanted to go. There was a place he absolutely had to go back to. Where he had to understand.

The boy touched the wheel that chose the destination number with his fingertips. Incredibly, he remembered it.

Suddenly, he paralyzed himself.

His heart rumbled in his ears,so loud that he hadn’t made him realize a breath behind him. It was the very strong stench of alcohol that made Morty realize that he was not alone.

“Did you touch my things, Morty?”

Morty breathed suddenly, instinctively, into a breath that stuck in his throat. He was paralyzed. A shock of fear spread over his back, making him unable to turn around.

A hand went under his chin, stroking his throat in what was one step away from becoming a possessive and suffocating hold. Morty felt Rick’s breathing go to tickle his ear as he lowered himself on top of him.

“I can barely touch you… and you try to touch my things?”.

The heart galloped into Morty's chest who was struggling not to go into tachycardia and hyperventilation. Rick's hand was warm and sticky, it smelled of whiskey or something, just like his breath.

He was fucking drunk again, like that night in his room. No, even worse.

Morty's eyes became wet as he tried to turn around, but he was blocked by that hand that made itself more present on his neck.

"R-Rick ... S-sor-.."

"Shhhh" Rick hissed in his ear, resting his warm mouth on his lobe. Morty swallowed, feeling his face suddenly hot.

"I'm really tired of your apologies, Morty." Rick ran his hand that was on the boy's neck down his chest. A hand instead pulled a kind of remote control from his lab coat, of which he pressed two buttons. Morty heard the sound of a door closing.

"Of your thanking me, of your questions...".

Morty felt Rick's long fingers reaching his hips, squeezing them slightly, and then tightening tightly on his flesh: "Why can't you just shut up, fuck?".

Rick pushed him against the rickety table with a snarl that exploded in his throat. Morty moaned at the blow in the stomach, pointing his hands against the steel, while Rick made room with his arm to throw everything on the ground, among a thousand splinters and broken glass.

One hand still clenched tightly on his hips, nails inside the flesh, while the other went behind his neck, pushing his face down. Morty felt his forehead slamming against the cold steel of the table and a scream came out of his mouth.

He tried to lift his back with his arms on the work surface, but Rick's hand just below his neck had an iron grip. Morty couldn't move an inch.

He turned in profile to be able to speak, with the tears that stung his eyes "R-Rick! NO! S-stop! ".

Rick came closer to Morty, crushing him against the table with his pelvis. Morty swallowed feeling his erection pushing hard against his lower back.

“Nobody can hear you, Morty. I've just flipped a switch and silenced the room. And even if... "

Morty felt Rick's hand move and suddenly the sound of a belt opening. He opened his eyes, now flooded with tears, struggling to stay distant as much as possible.

No.

No.

_Not like that._

That phrase rang in his head, without having called it.

He hated himself at that moment. What did it mean like that? No. No. Not at all.

"R-Rick, p-please! N-no, I don't- ".

"What, Morty?" Rick growled, squeezing his chest against his back, making him cling to the table even more. He released the grip on his neck, going to block the hand that was trying to pull him away behind his back. "What the fuck don't you want? Grandpa fucking you? Grandpa kissing you? Him getting horny looking at you? ".

Morty could no longer hold back, still a little and he would go into hyperventilation. He was breathing fast, amid a thousand groans of effort to free himself. Those phrases rang mean in his ears, like so many poisonous hisses that put him and Rick in front of the irremediable and unpronounceable. He was red with shame and embarrassment, with those images that printed vividly in his head, heralding what was already happening.

“You can't have it, Morty. This is not how it will go. "

The sound of a lowering zip made Morty's legs give way, and the fall nearly broke his arm. Rick left it just in time, before putting a hand under his belly to bring him back up.

Suddenly, both stopped and Morty immediately knew why. Rick seemed to stop breathing and Morty covered his mouth with one hand so as not to moan as he had done the day before.

The boy closed his eyes, in a whimper of defeat that he barely held in his throat.

No.

Rick, in taking him, had passed his hand just under his belly and now... Now he had a hand on his erection, swollen and turgid as much as his.

He had touch it and there was no way to forget it.

Morty narrowed his eyes in embarrassment and humiliation of what that reaction meant.

He had hurt himself.

He had hurt himself often, in the past.

Even years earlier. Cuts, barrels, slaps, holds, pinches. He had discovered that the pain excited him. The sadomasochistic porn and stories shocked him more than the others.

But that was only the tip of the iceberg and what was happening was proof of that.

The fact that he liked such a thing was in no way justifiable.

Rick's stop seemed to mean the same thing: how was that possible?

The man's hand moved on its bulge, wrapping it as if to prove it was real.

Morty held back a groan and let himself go to silent tears, covering his eyes as Rick turned him slowly.

The green light and the torch of the cellphone that was still on illuminated the face of the scientist with disturbing reflections. Rick was looking at him without words.

Morty lowered his hands, clashing with Rick's stunned expression and finally noting his state: the sclera of his eyes was still purple, his eyes were very deep, the burr that slipped from his mouth more substantial than usual. Rick scared him.

Morty felt more helpless than ever: he had also broken down the last barrier of his defense.

The fact that he didn't want to.

That erection went against what he felt in his head and also in his heart. And Rick wouldn't understand that. That would be enough for him as a signal.

Morty continued to cry, barely shaking his head in a 'no' that refused to make it past his lips, getting stuck in his throat. He was afraid of having gone silent.

It was over.

He had given him everything. He had no more defenses. He had granted him anything.

But then why wasn't Rick grinning? Why wasn't he laughing at him, aware that he had won? Why wasn't he still turning him, finishing what he had started? Why did he put a hand on his still swollen cheek, until he kissed him?

Morty kept his eyes wide, watching as much as possible those of Rick, closed.

The silence was total and everything was motionless.

It wasn’t a violent or invasive kiss, when his lips pressed against Morty's. The man seemed to breathe him again while kissing him, in what seemed almost a strange relief. A sort of liberation.

Morty remained motionless until Rick barely broke away. Now he was the one surprised.

How was it possible to go from such an absolute anger and abuse, to that strange sweetness that didn't even seem to belong to him?

Morty began to breathe again, though with panting broken by tears and fear.

Rick's gaze was something indescribable. Surprised, frightened, horny, angry, overwhelmed, with a sort of hope. It was the gaze of a psycho.

Suddenly, Rick seemed to make a sudden decision. He ran a hand through Morty's hair, behind his head, bringing him closer to him again: the grandson looked at his lips a moment before he kissed him again.

Morty narrowed his eyes as he felt Rick's warm tongue filling him, along with a thousand unpleasant flavors he had never tasted.

That kiss was different from what happened the day before, though.

No.

It was Rick who was different.

Morty felt Rick's erection again which collided with his and the sensation made him act instinctively: he put his hands against Rick's chest, pushing him away and breaking the kiss.

Immediately, he regretted the gesture. He regretted it because of the look that Rick gave him an instant later.

Morty made him angry again.

Morty shielded himself with his hands, as if apologizing, before Rick grabbed his shirt, slamming him back on the table, belly down. He blocked him with his pelvis again as he went to open Morty's zip.

"Okay ... Okay, Morty. Is this the game you like? "

Nononono. No, fuck, he misunderstood everything.

_Oh yes? Are you sure, sick bastard?_

"No! N-no, Rick i-it's not like that-“.

"Shut up... I know what you want...".

Rick ran a hand over Morty's belly, going to cupped his erection. If he hadn't heard it beat so hard, Morty would have said his heart exploded.

It was the first time that someone had touched him outside of himself. And that first time was his grandfather's hand.

Morty took Rick's hand with his, scratching it to remove it. The man grunted immediately, taking his wrist and twisting his arm behind his back, making him scream in pain.

With the other hand he went beyond the elastic of his boxers, going to wrap his erection with long and gnarled fingers.

Morty's eyes widened.

Rick was _touching_ him.

Morty escaped a groan, which promised to be the first of many.

Rick laughed, a low laugh.

“You like it when I touch you, huh Morty? When grandpa touches you? ".

Rick brought his thumb to touch Morty's cockhead, who with his other hand went to cover his mouth. No. He didn't have to moan. He hadn’t to give him any other signals of any kind. It was just a physical reaction.

It was just a physical reactions. Hormones. He can’t control them.

Morty shook his head, eyes closed.

"Liar…".

Rick moved his hand along its entire length, snatching a sob from him. The hand was calloused, but those fingers moved with experience and confidence. It was a completely different touch from his when he satisfied himself.

"I know now..." Morty almost seemed to be able to hear a grin in his words, the same that Rick had when he knew he had won.

In a rare moment of lucidity, Morty was seized by the disarming thought that what was happening was something he had fantasized about at times (more than he wanted).

In that instant, he wanted to hurt himself. The idea of also giving Rick his last secret made him feel hatred and contempt for himself like he had never felt.

He bit his fist that covered his mouth, feeling the ferrous taste of blood after a few moments.

Rick continued to move his hand over his still erect member, with another low, short laugh.

"Why don't you say... Why don't you tell grandpa that you like it? Why don't you tell me the truth, M-Morty? "

"N-no ... I-I don't like it. Rick, p-ple- "

Rick shook his head, cracking his tongue in denial. He went to put his lips on the boy's neck.

“Don't tell me bullshit, Morty. Don't tell me anymore. "

Rick's voice darkened and the next moment his teeth closed angrily on Morty's neck, biting him hard. Morty screamed in pain, but the sensation helped to jerk his erection between Rick's fingers.

"You fooled me for too long, Morty... You... You really screwed me, babe."

Rick licked the mark that had left his teeth, continuing to masturbate Morty, with his erection still pressed against his lower back.

Morty had no solutions. It was impossible to stop him; only God (Rick) knew what had fallen into his body. And even if he had been sober, it might not have been easy anyway.

He wanted him. He wanted him all the way and without limits.

This was insane, along with the fact that that awareness terrified and excited Morty in the same way.

If Rick wanted something, there was no way he wouldn't get it.

He kissed him on the neck, sucking on his skin, lost in tasting him while dealing with the real proof that that perverse fantasy was in the mind of both.

"You are so good, baby... Fuck, Morty, you have a taste that... you make me crazy...".

It would have been idiotic to say that Morty had blushed. There was no way to blush again when all the blood from his body was concentrated in his penis or cheeks.

Those whispered phrases in his ear, from Rick's hoarse voice, made his legs weak.

"... You're driving me crazy, Morty. You are... "

Suddenly, incredibly, Rick stopped.

His hand remained steady on his erection and his forehead rested on the boy's neck.

Morty held his breath, feeling the grip of the scientist loosen on his wrist.

Rick's voice broke: "... You're making me sick."

Morty swallowed. He tried to read the nuance of those words, without being able to see the gaze of the speaker. He felt only so much, so much pain in that voice. A lot of tiredness.

Rick belched before leaving him. He released him just in time, before throwing up next to him, continuing to cough immediately afterwards.

Morty turned to him, looking at Rick on his knees on the ground, with his hands resting on the floor, intent on vomiting. He hid his erection, which was already becoming softer, inside the boxers, closing the zip.

He stood there for a moment, looking at the door and the portal gun. He could run away. It was the right time.

Instead, he leaned over Rick, unable to do anything about it. He put a hand on his back: "R-Rick-".

Rick turned, violently slapping the hand that wanted to help him.

"FUCK OFF" he roared, making Morty jump.

He continued to look on the ground, still coughing, before bringing a hand to cover his face.

"Fuck off...".

Morty clenched his fists.

_Get out. Escape. Turn around and never come back. Get lost. Kill yourself. Kill him._

He stood still. Still to watch him.

In that instant, something happened that he had never thought possible.

Rick's shoulders began to tremble, while the phosphorescent light of the portal gun shone some drops that slipped between his fingers, directed to the ground.

Rick was crying.

Morty held his breath, trying to hear any possible hiccups. It was a silent, restrained cry. But it was really happening.

At that moment, Morty saw Rick in all the weight of his years. He saw him old, tired, annihilated.

Perhaps, he saw him even weak.

"R-Rick ...".

He didn't know what he would do. Probably they would have remained so still forever, with Morty who couldn’t heal his executioner and Rick who couldn’t bring his victim closer.

They would probably have remained silent forever if Rick hadn't started coughing, now stronger than before. More insistently. Without stopping.

"R-Rick?".

Without breathing.

Rick slumped to the ground, his hands around his own neck.

"RICK!" Morty snapped at him, turning him over before he collided with his own vomit.

Rick had drooling in his mouth, in quantities that weren’t normal even for him. The sclera of the eyes had turned black and the skin was bruised.

Morty felt insane terror as he shouted for help, to no avail, for the same stupidity as the man who had isolated them from the rest of the world. Nobody could hear them. Immediately he looked at the spaceship, dragging Rick to the passenger seat.

He started, breaking through the garage door in going out of orbit in a second.

He could have left him there.

He could have killed him.

Even Rick, however, could have done much more.

 

 

**Art by Hajime_Hinata01 on Twitter. Follow this artist!! I'm so happy for this gift!!**

**<https://twitter.com/Hajime_Hinata01> **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are with the new chapter, which I hope you have been waiting for. I'm sorry for the delay, but the translation always takes a long time.  
> Thanks to Bloodrunsred for being an exceptional betareader and always supporting me. Really.  
> I am knowing many beautiful people in fandom and I hope to know more and more <3  
> If you like the story, leave a comment! Writers always need motivation <3  
> Do you feel it will still be very long and the real story that has haunted me since this summer has not yet begun.


	10. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW WARNING - ALSO IMAGES

Men and gods. Slaves and kings. Insects and giants.

Ricks and Mortys.

The President was smiling at the crowd beneath him, with the microphone near his mouth. His smile was serene, reassuring, incredibly wise for a boy of that age. It was that of a benevolent father devoted to the people.

It was a bright sunny day and the main square was the ideal place to celebrate the almost definitive reconstruction of the Citadel.

“Crime has dropped significantly. Job opportunities leveled out based on skills and aspirations. And all this is not our merit, but the merit of a community eager for change and eager to implement it. The credit is yours. "

Under the stage a multitude of yellow shirts and light blue hair. Morty journalists, Rick photojournalists, ordinary citizens, Citadel guards. The applause and confident looks were all turned towards the Morty with the black shirt and the red tie, who tilted his head slightly in the conclusion of the speech that had been going on for a while.

The President raised his hand in a gesture of greeting, being escorted by a large group of guards back inside the building.

Out of the corner of his eye he was attracted by sudden movements on the side of the main cordon: guards were pushing Mortys with placards and banners that they kept up. The President barely had time to see a Morty shot in the temple by a rifle butt before disappearing inside the palace.

His smile vanished, leaving room for a gloomy, almost absent expression. Distant.

As he walked down the hall, he heard the muffled voices of his advisers, both Ricks and Mortys. The questions of his bagmen, secretaries, even a tailor who, without even touching him, took the measurements of his shoulders.

He heard every single word, responding mechanically, without any inflection of the voice. The important thing was to liquidate everyone as soon as possible. It was to remove them, all of them, without distinction.

The President entered the elevator, followed only by a secretary who continued to update him on the latest preparations for the reopening of the 7G sector. The endless floors flowed before his eyes in that list of names, dates, information he already knew and were useless.

He got out of the elevator and that Morty's voice followed him, pedantic.

"So, M-Mr. Pre-President, the community hopes to be able to resume work of construction i-in two days, as anticipated by the inspe-pector of security that ...".

He closed his eyes, entering his study. That shrill, loud and annoying little voice was like a drill in the brain. That stupid, ridiculous stutter made him want to tear his tongue out, making him swallow it. He would have solved his problem, at least. He put a hand on his nose, squeezing it in an attempt not to leak even a minimum of what he was feeling inside.

He hated them.

He hated them all.

He would have killed them all.

A thousand different ways of killing that secretary appeared to him, like flashes: beheading him, shooting him, choking him, throwing him down on that adoring crowd of idiots. Or, his favorite way: a knife with which to tear him to pieces, until blood covered his whole body. Then he would piss in his empty eye sockets, filling his head.

"S-sir? Is e-everything, S-Sir, do you want anything else? ”.

The President gritted his teeth before someone spoke for him.

A long-fingered hand rested on the secretary's shoulder.

“Nothing else is needed. The President is fine. "

The secretary looked up, meeting the eyes of a Rick with a deep scar on his lips, who was looking at him with a grin and with dark circles. Raising his eyebrow, he eloquently pointed to the door, which the secretary passed, gasping, closing it behind him.

The President let himself go to an annoyed moan that he had been holding back for a long time.

"Migraine? It looks like your head is going to explode. "

"If you had taken a little longer, his would have exploded."

The President didn't even turn to look at Evil Rick, going to sit on the large swivel chair in front of the desk. He took off his jacket, letting it fall to the ground.

He put his hand to his mouth, reasoning as he looked out of the immense window that overlooked the Citadel. He narrowed his eyes, as if he was looking for something.

"I don't hear updates."

"Because there aren't any, in fact," said Evil Rick, approaching the chair, standing at the President's right and looking out too. Their eyes were identical: off, distant, devoid of any form of heat or spark. Only Rick had a grin on his face that somehow colored his face. The President was a disturbing mask of expressionlessness.

"You shouldn't be here then, but out, searching."

Evil Rick turned to the President, raising his eyebrow and putting a hand on his chest: “Don't tell me you're not happy to see me. You hurt me to death, like this. "

The President remained silent, continuing to look out the window, a dark look in his eyes. He leaned his temple on one hand, with his elbow on the arm of the armchair.

Evil Rick put a hand on his shoulder, going behind him and taking the other. He moved his fingers, in what was a massage, ironic and sensual at the same time.

" I just save you and you welcome me like this?"

"You saved him."

Evil Rick laughed, his lips distorted by that scar that furrowed them, splitting them in half.

"Little but sure ...".

The Rick continued to move his hands on the President's shoulders, wrapped in a black shirt. Slowly, the fingers went up to the red tie, undoing the knot without difficulty. The garment rustled to the ground.

Rick's hands crept under his shirt, stroking the chest of the President much younger than him, but with the look that was identical to his. The boy didn’t make a turn, simply letting the gesture take place, without welcoming or removing it in any way. He simply didn't notice it.

He was busy looking out.

Out where _he_ was.

The President jumped up, turning around and using all his strength to slap Evil Rick with the back of his hand. The man turned, taking the blow without doing anything.

The Morty continued to hit him, with a punch to the mouth of the stomach and a kick on the knee, which made him fall to the ground. Nothing, nothing, not even a hint of pain or surprise. The boy's gaze, however, was finally something different from the total absence of emotions: it was a murderous, manic gaze, totally devoid of any lucidity.

The President took Rick's chin in his hand, squeezing hard, as he gritted his teeth. Again, a punch on the cheek, which made the Rick turn breathlessly. A splash of blood ended up on the floor.

He kept hitting him until he got tired.

Panting, the President slowly recomposed, his gaze becoming distant again, far away. He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, adjusting his collar. Meanwhile, Evil Rick had turned around, looking at him again. He too, without expressions; even the grin was gone.

The President raised a hand to the man's mouth, stained with blood. He moved it to his cheek, in what was like a caress. He lowered himself, going to put a kiss on that mouth that he had engraved with the scalpel himself.

He licked his lips, stained with blood. Then, again, the colorless voice: "Blow me".

With a military, robotic readiness, Evil Rick brought his big hands to open his belt, lowering the zip of the gray trousers. The President's erection slipped out of the fabric, immediately taken into the mouth by the man on the ground, in front of him.

The President parted his lips without letting go of a breath. Instead, he breathed, licking his lips again as he grabbed his light blue hair, squeezing them tightly. Stronger.

 

 

Rick was on the bed.

His eyes were closed and he was breathing slowly.

He had a drip attached to his arm and a state-of-the-art oxygen mask that covered his half face. Although alien, that hospital looked a lot like a normal terrestrial medical center, at least for treatments.

Morty was sitting by the bed. Yes, it wasn't a cot, but a double bed: Rick had a preferential account in that place; Morty had found out by bringing him there, barking at the acceptance that they had to hurry. Even the damage caused by the spacecraft in the "parking lot" was covered.

If Morty thought about the real funds Rick could have, it seemed strange to him to go hunting for fruits that make the farts scented, to sell them . Obviously, money was never enough. Or maybe it was a pretext for adventures.

Soon after he called Beth, explaining everything. Immediately his mother attacked him with questions: how is Dad? Where is it? How long will you stay there? Is he out of danger?

Not one on Morty. Not even a _and you? Are you okay love?_ Not that he expected it.

It only seemed to him that he heard Summer, who was asking more insistent questions than she was generally interested in asking. But maybe she was just asking who had stolen her charger.

Morty rubbed his eyes, looking at the man in front of him.

Rick, in that immobility, seemed almost serene. The forehead was smooth, without the usual ripples. The mouth, covered, revealed no grins, grimaces or green saliva. The closed eyes were not thinned in a look of derision or judgment. Yes, he was pale, but compared to the horrible appearance he had in the garage, he now seemed to be simply resting.

Rick wasn’t dangerous. At that moment, it was harmless.

Maybe.

Morty, on the other hand, was a disaster. Emaciated, with bruises and wounds everywhere. The eyelids were drooping over the dull gaze, the cheek still swollen from tennis. The hand and neck carried bite marks, both hims and Rick's. Even on his chest, he had the marks of the blows he had taken against the steel table.

He stank, he was unkempt, the clothes were wrinkled and dirty.

And most importantly, he hadn't eaten for almost twenty-four hours now.

Morty was disgusting.

The problem is that at that moment he wanted to get worse, to punch himself.

He swallowed, unable to help but shake his head, in a mental conversation with himself.

How the fuck had it occurred to him to save Rick, without even a second thought?

Why had it been so spontaneous for him to stay, put his hand on Rick’s back as he vomited and run to an alien hospital without even thinking about it?

After what had happened.

After Rick shook him, pushed him, twisted his arm, slammed his forehead against the table. After he bit him, licked him, touched him. _Kissed_. Again.

_You are a masochist._

_You're a fucking pervert._

_You are a pilot fish that does nothing but want to eat his shit._

_You continue to swim around him, in the hope that one day or another he won't want to swallow you._

Morty sucked at that precise moment.

He had never considered himself particularly, he had no reason, but he had never seen himself as at that moment.

He didn’t understand how it was possible that a victim could be so accommodating with his executioner.

Morty clenched his fists, with the sudden desire not to hurt himself, but Rick. Maybe that was why he hurt himself? Why did he know he couldn't hurt Rick? Of not being able to stop him?

Maybe that was why he let off steam on his own skin.

Even more pathetic.

Morty rose from his chair with a nervous jerk. A frustrated whimper was trapped in his throat, but for the moment there was no risk of waking Rick up. He was in a kind of induced pharmacological coma, but absolutely under control.

_The best cure here is rest and the inability to drink and take drugs._

His drunkenness was a joke for alien doctors.

But this time he had really gone too far. When the nurse saw the black sclera, she jumped in fear. That gesture made Morty hyperventilate and he also had to be assisted as they brought Rick into a room.

Morty stared angrily at the man on the bed. What the fuck had he been drinking? What had he done, what drugs had he taken? And why?

_Why..? Now that you finally know it._

Morty was surprised by another strange question, which came without warning.

Who did he get drunk _with_?

The boy punched himself in the head, then leaned over his knees, taking his face in his hands.

Those questions didn't make sense. It didn't make sense that he saved him. It didn't make sense that Rick masturbated him and ... it didn't make sense that Morty got excited.

He was terrified, but he couldn't deny what had happened.

That erection hadn’t been induced by some strange Rick injection. He couldn't even blame hormones forever. It had been spontaneous and absolutely real.

Morty was excited.

Just as it happened on that planet, in that kiss.

That in the garage had been one of the moments when Rick had frightened him more, but he couldn’t hide that those hands, that voice, that mouth and that body so close electrified his body as it happened in his hidden fantasies.

He had to realize it.

Rick excited him.

He didn't know why such a violent and abusive person excited him, regardless of the obscene fact that he was his grandfather. He didn't even know if it had been something Rick had manipulated in some way or if it depended on Morty's psychological problems. But it was a fact.

And Rick had been excited Morty for a while.

But the worst part was that Rick knew now.

Morty stared at the scientist, biting his lips.

He knew? What if he doesn't remember?

The idea that for once he could have had one memory more than Rick illuminated him for a moment.

He couldn’t start from that assumption, however.

He remembered Rick's crazy eyes when he felt an unexpected erection, besieged by different feelings, incredulous.

A strange butterfly-like sensation in the stomach shook Morty's lower belly, at the memory of the kiss that followed the discovery. It had been a wet kiss, from a drunk, but it had a strange, unusual sweetness that had made him lower his defenses. That had made him enjoy it for a moment.

Then again, the wall, push him away. And again Rick's violence.

Refusal was something the scientist couldn’t accept, simply because his ego didn’t make it possible.

He remembered well the complaints and threats made to Unity, with Morty inside the spacecraft to witness the outburst.

The memory bothered him that he didn't remember had been so strong at the time.

Morty stared at Rick with an anger that made his arms tremble.

Nobody could refuse him, but he could reject the whole universe, without even realizing it, chasing anyone to the point of giving him the need to be desired and accepted. To have Rick's approval for the value of one's existence.

Morty remembered the applause of Rick, in that perverse fantasy about Creepy Morty, before he entered his room, rotten drunk.

Rick was toxic, totally.

Maybe he was too.

An insistent gurgling of the stomach pushed Morty out of the room. He had to eat something, of course. And he had to get out of there before doing something to regret. For better or for worse.

 

 

The cool thing about alien distributors is that you could really find anything inside, even from different galaxies. It was there in the hospital, during the almost extrapolation of Jerry's penis, that Morty had discovered popcorn Coke. A real shit.

The boy reviewed all the various types of snacks, trying to understand which one was the most similar to Earth’s food, or at least to something already tried with Rick.

The moment he chose some unidentified jellies, Morty realized he had no money. He rummaged in his trouser pockets, but nothing, obviously not even a penny. And even if he did, it was definitely not the right currency.

Immediately, he thought of looking into Rick's lab coat, but the idea immediately bounced back. At the very least he risked blowing a few fingers.

"Morty!".

Morty frowned, hearing Rick calling him. How was it that he had already woken up?

Morty turned, looking at Rick in front of him, who was calling him smiling. He seemed happy. It was a spontaneous smile, clean and sincerely happy to see him.

Morty remained motionless.

That wasn't Rick.

He didn't smile like that.

"You're not Morty," The Rick stopped slowly, thinking the same thing. He looked at him in bewilderment, almost ... top to bottom. Morty looked down, looking at his own dirty and shabby clothes. For a second he was ashamed.

"Rick!" His own identical voice reached them, calling them back. Next to them, another Morty, looking absolutely normal.

"Oh, there you are. We have company. ” The Rick nodded at the Morty.

“Oh, he-hello!" The Morty raised a hand in the direction of his alternate dimension, approaching the Rick with a smile.

“You two here to listen to Slipknot? Oh Christ, a dimension without "Vermillion" is not worthy to be inhabited, am i right? " The Rick shook his head, messing the hair of his Morty with good-naturedness.

"It's a p-pity that at that concert they p-put me in the middle of a little mo-mosh pits" The Morty chuckled, scratching his arm, followed closely by his Rick: "My fault that I didn't keep you on my shoulders, Morty! ".

"N-no, R-Rick! It's just that I-I'm too short! ”.

"What are you saying? You're right, buddy!” the Rick retorted jokingly, patting him on the shoulder.

Morty remained silent, as if instead of being their identical copies, they were the only aliens in that hospital.

What the fuck...?

"What the fuck ...?" The words came out automatically, without remaining thoughts.

The Rick and the Morty looked at him, bewildered.

"W-what?" Asked the Morty, also starting to look down on him.

But who the fuck were these people? Aside from being replicas, of course.

When did Ricks and Mortys ever talk and treat each other like this?

Morty watched them upset, almost disgusted. It was disturbing to see that dynamic, it didn't look like the classic relationship between a Morty and a Rick at all.

It was _annoying_.

_What's up? Are you jealous?_

The Rick frowned, arching his eyebrow: "Where's your Rick?".

 _His_ Rick _._

Morty blinked, weighing the possibility of not answering.

"In that room".

The Rick was silent for a moment, before focusing on Morty's bruises, watching him. The boy got nervous at that look, feeling under test. The looks of the Rick when they analyzed something were all the same: you felt just a stupid guinea pig.

"Do you need anything?" He said coldly.

Morty was silent, barely shaking his head.

“Do you want a s-snack?  D-do you need mo-money? ”The Morty approached, pulling some money out of his pocket, offering it to Morty.

Morty slapped his hand instinctively, making him jump with a squeak. The Rick gritted his teeth, standing in front of the Morty.

Morty looked at them angrily at that gesture of protection: "I don't need a shit."

"You'd better go back to your Rick, kid" the Rick glared at him, before creating a portal and turning his back on him. "He's one of those ..." he said softly to his Morty, who was looking at him sorrily, before pushing him into the portal.

As the Rick disappeared into the green light, Morty screamed, his voice scratching his throat: "He's not my Rick!"

_I'm not his Morty._

This was the real sentence.

Morty clenched his fists, with all the doctors and patients watching him.

He kicked the distributor.

He had never experienced such envy in his life.

 

 

  * Hey baby, I’m alone at home. Come here?



Summer was reading the text message on Whatsapp, without replying. It had been a long time since she had taken away the chance to see if she was online. Only the losers wanted to let people know how and when they were available. And besides, it was one of the few ways to get some freedom from social media. She needed it too.

The reason she wasn't responding, however, was only one.

Summer was worried.

She had overheard the call between Morty and Beth and her questions had not been heard by her mother. What she understood was that Rick had been feeling sick from a heavy hangover and he and Morty would have had to stay in hospital for almost two days to clean up his blood.

Asked how Morty was, Beth shrugged: "I don’t know, I think he’s ok. It's dad who's sick."

Sure. It was Rick who was sick.

Fuck, if he was so sick.

He was out of his mind.

Summer wanted to punch Morty herself. How the fuck had it occurred to him not to mention bruises? To talk to her at least.

At that moment she felt like a shitty sister: there were at least a thousand reasons why Morty shouldn’t have wanted to confide in her.

But those bruises... how long had this been happening for? Had this ever happened before?

Maybe not. Maybe yes, and she never noticed.

Her hand vibrated.

  * Ehy, what the fuck is wrong with you?



She snorted, throwing the phone on the sofa where she was lying, with her feet on the table. Fuck Tony too. How could she get ahead with him if he had now been transformed by Rick into yet another person involved in their family mess? The day before he was in the hospital and now he was trying to fuck her again, without even knowing it.

Fuck everyone.

...

The worry returned, invasive.

What if Morty is in trouble? If they weren't in the hospital, but somewhere else?

What if Rick was hurting him again?

Summer swallowed, taking a deep breath.

She was his older sister.

Beth didn't care at all about Morty and Jerry ... well, what could he have done against Rick?

But she was responsible for her brother. She was the only one who could be and never had been.

Summer had been a stupid bitch with Morty.

And it was only her fault, her fault and the charm that her grandfather and his badass being had on her. The love she feels for Rick had clouded what she feels for Morty.

For a second she saw his little brother, who entered his room instead of their parents', to sleep with her.

Summer bit her lips, feeling a guilt that made her anger boil towards herself.

It wasn't fair.

It had to be her to defend him.

And Morty had an infinite need to be defended...

Against Rick, however, she needed reinforcements.

Summer got up, feeling a heaviness that crushed her with every step towards the kitchen. There she found Beth, intent on seasoning a salad, with a glass of red wine alongside. The woman looked at her barely, cutting diced carrots.

“Summer, will you set the table please? It's almost ready".

Summer stood by the door, biting her lips and weighing things to say. Beth noticed it after a few seconds, looking at her quizzically.

"Well? Come on, give me a hand, at least!"

"Mom…"

Summer took a deep breath and Beth stopped doing what she was doing, with a hint of concern in her eyes.

"Honey, what's up ...?" She suddenly widened her eyes, terrified: "Oh my God, you're pregnant."

Summer was shaken from her muteness: “What? No... It's about Morty. "

Beth took a sigh of relief, putting a hand on her chest: "Oh my God, thank goodness ...".

_Thank goodness?_

Summer looked at her harshly and for a second she was afraid that Beth might take sides with Rick. It was not a crazy scenario, but she had to try.

"I have to tell you something".

 

The gurgling of his stomach was so strong that, even in a pharmacological coma, it could have made Rick wake up.

He hadn't been able to put anything under his teeth, but luckily he wasn’t hungry anymore. The nervousness and anger had thrown his stomach into turmoil and he hadn't even touched the food they had brought to Rick.

He had once heard that the stomach was also called the "second brain". If you were worried or stressed, everything reflected on the stomach. Rick's response had been one: "At least you have one, shit." A burp had crowned the elegant sentence.

Morty was still in the chair, shaking with cold. There was Rick's lab coat hanging on the wall, which gave off an incredible stench. But that was not why Morty hadn't put it on his shoulders: he just didn't want to. He wanted nothing from Rick, no help, not even the slightest closeness.

He preferred to die of cold.

And hungry.

He breathed deeply, hugging his arms, looking at Rick's thick hair, of that absurd color.

So why didn't he leave?

Why didn't he leave him there?

He was safe, wasn't he? He was in a fucking hospital.

_And you? Where are you safe?_

Morty swallowed, thinking about when they would go home. It was twice that Rick had lost control of himself because of alcohol.

No. Because of him. It was Rick's fault.

_Don't you think about why he gets so drunk?_

Who cares, they were not his problems.

_You are the problem._

"No!" The dialogue with himself made him growl that word out loud. Morty looked around for a second, ashamed of that instinctive reaction.

He thought of the slap pulled on that Morty's hand. To the very strong shots thrown at the tennis balls.

He wasn't like that. He was not so violent and angry.

Morty narrowed his eyes, looking at the scientist.

Rick was.

He was not just changing him physically, he was also changing him in the head. He closed his eyes, bringing his hands to his face, in a desperate attempt not to feel a damned experiment, destined to end in Rick’s image and likeness.

Isn't that what a God does? Is it not to create imperfect creatures in his own image and likeness?

Morty rubbed his eyes, which were beginning to sting.

Why didn't he leave instead of being a dog on a leash?

He thought of the Morty and Rick of before. A disgusted grimace twisted his mouth, rethinking the harmony and simplicity of that relationship. They were cloying, they were...

_They were happy._

They were simply a grandfather and his grandson.

He looked at Rick, his eyes shining with tears. Even with Rick in a coma, he couldn't feel safe. There was always that underlying fear, that tension that kept him on guard and on the defensive.

It was also a tension of another kind. They both knew it by now.

A tear streaked his cheek, as he desperately tried to grasp a peaceful, happy memory that justified the fact that he was there, at that moment, at the bedside of his executioner. He tried to remember a smile, a look, a gesture, a sentence.

_A good adventure needs a good ending._

That phrase came to illuminate Morty's eyes, sudden and salvific, like hope.

The boy raised his hand to his mouth, biting his knuckles hard, thoughtful.

Rick had killed King Jelly Bean.

Rick had realized what had happened.

He hadn't told him anything, that’s true. But what if it was not to humiliate him? Not to remind him of such a bad thing?

_He did the same, though._

Memories began to hit Morty's mind, just like the negative ones that made him realize that Rick was not an alien parasite, but simply a perfectly existing piece of shit.

He remembered when he had saved him with that whirlwind of water that enveloped the spacecraft and swept away the Federation guards, while he was engaged in his crusade to save Fart.

He remembered when Rick had been arrested by the Federation spontaneously, to save his family. (Yes, also to get over Jerry).

He remembered when he had seen that photograph at Birdperson's house.

Morty swallowed, looking at Rick feeling the anger that had been gnawing inside him for hours.

He thought of a few hours earlier, in which Rick had collapsed into a cry that had shaken his shoulders. In which Morty had seen him tired, a thousand times more than he.

He remembered, in a thousand fragmented parts of memory, of when Rick gave him his collar, saving his life. He had never told him that he remembers, but it was perhaps the most important memory of his life.

Rick was going to die for him.

What was, if not this, the maximum possible gesture to give to another person?

And if he thought he was THE Rick, and he was A Morty, that memory seemed unreal and impossible.

But it had happened, and Morty knew it.

He would die rather than forget it.

Morty burst into tears, holding back his sobs as much as possible, covering his face with both hands.

Why was what Rick felt so important to him? Why was the idea of being considered by a monster so fundamental?

Why did Morty have that irrational and morbid need to be loved by Rick?

A grunt shook him from his tears and the boy quickly wiped his tears, watching Rick start to wake up. The scientist opened his eyes and Morty thanked God that the sclera was white again, normal.

Rick turned to him and the two remained silent, without saying anything.

Morty didn't know, but they were both wondering a similar thing: does he remember everything? Did it really happen?

With wet hands of tears, Morty swallowed: "R-Rick ...".

The scientist put his hand on the mask, pulling it away from his mouth. For some reason, the scene reminded Morty of a thinner but equally dangerous Terminator. Sometimes Rick looked like a cyborg.

Rick rose slightly on his back, with an annoyed grimace. He was shirtless under the sheets that were pulled up to his neck. Morty let his gaze run over his chest for a moment, which was already too much.

Rick was not looking at him, looking at the bed, his mouth kneaded with long sleep.

The silence was unbearable.

Morty handed him a glass of water that was on the table next to the two of them.

Rick looked at his grandson with a strange, almost judgmental expression. For a moment he seemed to notice his wet cheeks. Morty kept eye contact until Rick raised his hand to take the glass. As soon as their fingers touched, however, Morty dropped the object, which shattered on the ground.

Morty groaned in surprise.

The scene could have been comical. Rick with his arm stretched out looking at the ground and Morty doing the same thing.

The old man closed his eyes, leaning back on the bed, his face turned upwards.

"I-I'm sorry Rick, I'll get you another."

Morty got up, finding another glass they had put there for him, refilling it again. His hands were trembling, but he handed it back to Rick. The scientist could not see it, with his eyes closed.

"R-Rick ..." Morty tried.

Nothing. No reaction. Rick almost seemed to have gone back to sleep.

The boy gave up, placing the glass on the table again. He bit his lips before trying again.

"How are you, R-Rick?"

He saw Rick slightly bend his lips, turning his head away from the side of his grandson. It looked like a disgusted grimace. Morty wrung his hands uncomfortably: he had no idea what to say. Maybe it would have been better if he woke up when he was still angry. There he would have known what to say to him.

"The do-doctors said it's all fi-fine and that y-"

"What the fuck are you doing here, Morty?"

Rick wasn't looking at him, always with his eyes closed. Now that Morty was turned he couldn't see his expression very well.

“W-what do you mean, R-Rick? W-we had to run he- ".

"What the fuck are you doing here, Morty?" Rick repeated the question, turning to look at him. He had a hard, severe look, light years away from the expression of the Rick he met on the distributor. Rick was distant, detached. He seemed angry with him.

 _He_ was angry?

Morty frowned: "I-I'm fixing your mess."

Rick raised his eyebrow, before making an amused snort, shaking his head and looking up again.

"Mess... what a euphemistic term to explain what the fuck happened."

Morty held his breath.

Then he remembered.

Morty remained silent, with embarrassment that took possession of his mouth, preventing him from saying anything else. He didn't think Rick would have entered the subject so tightly. In fact, he really didn't think he would have entered the subject at all.

The scientist continued to shake his head, as if he couldn’t understand one thing. He acted as if Morty wasn't even there, even if that seemed to be the crux of the matter.

"Why the fuck are you here... It makes no sense you're here after what happened."

Rick seemed to speak to himself in a low voice. He didn't know those were the same questions Morty had been asking himself all morning.

Rick turned back to him, hard: "’Cause you understand what happened, right?". The words _stupid idiot_ seemed to be implied at the end of the sentence.

Morty held his gaze, gritting his teeth. Yes, he understood that.

The silence became palpable, between both.

Rick continued to analyze him. His face was worn out after the hangover, but his eyes were always the same: deep, intelligent and contemptuous. Morty looked down, having faced Rick's too much. He bit his lips, finding himself thinking that he couldn't look at him for how particular the color of his eyes was. It was a strange gray, metallic, sometimes tending almost to the strange shade of his hair.

Rick shook his head again, without giving himself peace. His voice was incredibly hoarse: "Why didn't you leave? Why didn't you let me die in the middle of that puddle of vomit, Morty? "

Morty looked up, surprised by the harshness of those words. Rick was questioning the fact that it was obvious to him, human shield, to save him without even thinking about it.

It wasn't from Rick.

"Why are you here? You could have run away, you could’ve been gone by now. "

"And wouldn't you come back?"

Rick was silent before lifting himself up onto his back again. Morty stiffened in his chair.

"You could have killed me."

Morty was blown away by that phrase. Rick was provoking him, continuing to stare at him.

"I ... I don't think that’s possible."

Rick raised an eyebrow, intrigued by that answer.

"Y-you d-decide what happens."

Rick looked at him, before he just laughed, a low laugh.

"It's true, Morty ... If you ran away, I'd find you. If I leave, sooner or later I will return. If you tried to kill me, I would come back anyway. "

_What if I kill myself?_

"But what I don't understand is why you don't try anyway."

Morty thought about those words, wandering around in Rick's eyes.

Why?

Why?

"’Cause I can’t".

For a second Morty almost risked saying _I don’t want to_.

Rick stared at him. He let his gaze go of Morty, looking at the bruises, the bites, the swollen skin. Morty felt naked.

Rick returned to having a disgusted expression on looking at him. He spoke suddenly, as if he had just made a decision.

“Go back to the garage. The portal gun is still there. "

Morty frowned, without understanding. What did he have to do with it? Where did Rick want to go?

“Use it to go wherever you want. Disappear forever, Morty. "

Morty held his breath. He must still be drunk, it was evident.

"W-what?".

"Go. Go away. Get lost. Get the fuck out. Choose a dimension and vanish into it. "

Rick had no expression, nor did his voice have any particular inflections. It was a simple proposal (or order?) that would change everything.

Morty swallowed, trying to picture a life without Rick in his head. A life in which he went to school, in which he didn’t know alien languages, in which perhaps sooner or later he would find a girl who would love him, giving him children, a life in which he would work.

A normal life.

A life without Rick.

...

He couldn't. No scenario seemed realistic. It simply didn't seem possible.

"And you wouldn't follow me?" It was not clear if it was a hope or a fear.

Rick was silent, without replying.

Maybe that was already an answer.

"You can always try, Morty."

Morty imagined taking the spacecraft. Start up, driving home. Park in the garage. See Beth, Summer, Jerry one last time. Take the portal gun in his hands, turn the wheel and disappear inside a green vortex. He imagined staying on any distant planet or dimension.

He imagined waiting. He imagined himself waiting for Rick's return.

His eyes became wet again, in the overwhelming, terrifying and spontaneous confession he made to himself.

He couldn't think of a reality without Rick. He couldn’t mask the fear he had of never seeing him again.

Morty looked at him, defeated: he needed him. And that was what Rick absolutely didn't have to know, even before he turned him on. He didn't have to discover that need. He didn't know of what exactly, nor what sense it made or why. But it was like this.

And maybe Rick already knew it.

"I-I can't, Rick ... I-I don't ...".

Morty went to cover his mouth with his arm, holding back a sob. No way. There was no fucking way he said _"I don't want to"._

Rick let him let off steam, with Morty's crying which was the only sound in the room.

After a few minutes, Rick took a deep breath.

"This won't change things, Morty," he said, being looked at by his grandson.

"It won't change the fact that I want to touch you," he said sharply.

Morty lowered his arm, looking at him. The biggest unspoken had just been spoken, without even many preambles. Rick had made it clear and it was now a cumbersome presence inside that room.

"Nor the fact I will do it again."

At that phrase, Morty's cheeks grew warm and his stomach twisted. He swallowed, lying to himself in saying that the movement was disgusted. But it wasn't even pleasure. It was a scandalous middle ground.

Morty was once brave, or simply unconscious.

"Touch me, then."

Finally something other than inexpressiveness colored Rick's face. The scientist had been caught off guard and was now looking at him halfway between the scandalized and the surprised.

Morty held out his hand to him, the one with its own bite on the palm. Rick looked at it, frowning without understanding.

Of course he didn't understand.

He was unable to do anything but take and take, only pretending to be able to have everything.

He couldn’t understand that gesture, so simple and easy.

"Touch me."

Rick stared at Morty, strangely defensive. It almost seemed that the boy had unmasked his bluff and now Rick was lacking in solutions. Morty didn’t look down, supporting him proudly. He didn't know how much he would hold up, though.

Rick looked down at Morty's hand, resting on the sheets next to his. It was infinitely smaller than Rick's, large, long-fingered, capable of any wonder and destruction.

He had no signs of age or calluses; it was soft and pink, while Rick's was a much lighter complexion. Morty looked at them too.

Both were looking at each other's hands, taking time without realizing it.

Rick was motionless, emotionally incapable, unable to take his hand. Or simply, he didn't care. Maybe he didn’t want to.

Morty yes, though. He needed it. After everything that had happened, he wanted a small and simple gesture. Like that first kiss, but without fear or guilt.

A demonstration, which perhaps meant nothing.

Maybe he simply wanted to touch Rick too.

Rick turned, decreeing the end of that hope. He wouldn't take his hand.

“W-what the fuck does that mean, M-Morty? W-what gay and idiotic bullshit is this? And why on earth should I- "

Rick stopped, the moment Morty inserted his small hand under Rick's.

It was all there, so clear and simple that Rick's IQ could not see it: a need for protection and affection. No, of recognition. Affection was something Morty didn't want to aim for; he didn’t delude himself.

Rick turned to the boy, who was looking at their hands biting his mouth, his cheeks barely red. It must have cost him much too, but he always managed to take one step more than Rick, who did nothing but see them as less steps.

Morty's hand closed into a fist, under the lair of Rick's fingers, which looked like a large pale spider trapping a prey. Well, quite realistic.

Rick could no longer scream at him or take his hand off his. Morty instead couldn't look at him anymore.

They remained so, still, before a nurse arrived twenty minutes later to scold both of them for that mess on the floor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some peace (?) after the storm. How long will it last?  
> I'm curious to know if you liked the chapter and what you think, I hope in your comment <3  
> As you have seen, the chapter is accompanied by the beautiful fan art of FleebJuice which continues to dedicate to this fanfiction and to me some beautiful tributes that I will never be tired of. Go to his twitter ( https://twitter.com/Hajime_Hinata01 ) and his patreon ( https://www.patreon.com/fleebjuices ) because he deserves all the following possible <3
> 
> Of course thanks to bloodrunsred for her precious help with the translation!! Is beautiful be a part of this generous community <3


	11. Answers (?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW FAN ART AT THE END

Summer had an extremely serious expression and shiny eyes. Beth's jaw clenched, like every time she faced a difficult operation.

Jerry, on the other hand, had a radiant smile.

Probably that was the most beautiful day of his life.

Was he a shit father? Probably. But the idea that Rick had hurt Morty and that THEREFORE was indefensible and that THEREFORE the whole family was angry with him and that THEREFORE the line-up had finally moved, couldn’t fail to make him fucking happy.

Rick was wrong.

Rick was unequivocally wrong.

All his relativity, his caring about anything and always being right, lost any value when, according to Summer, Rick had tried to strangle Morty. When Morty had deep bruises on her neck.

Rick. Sanchez. Was. Not. Defensible.

He couldn’t have been right.

Jerry would have finally been supported and would no longer have been the painstaking father who worried too much about his underage son tossed right and left for space.

His frustration had reached unbearable levels and Rick's smile at every victory made him gnaw inside.

In that house everyone was his emotional hostage, everyone. Except for him. Nobody realized that they were prey to a silent blackmail that had changed the balance of that family for a long time: loves Rick or Rick will leave.

Often, Jerry felt the smartest in there. Not an easy job.

Beth hugged her arms, before taking out a big sigh: "Are you sure of what you're saying?".

Summer opened her arms, approaching her: "Mom, he said "It was you". I mean, what else would he have meant? "

Beth was silent and Jerry felt thorny. He shouldn't leave her too much space to think. Beth was as smart and sharp as Rick and if she wanted something she got it, even at the cost of lying. Lie to herself to defend her father? She had done it a thousand times. But now that Morty was the problem? Beth would never put her father in front of her son, would she?

Would she...?

...

Jerry began to sweat cold. Okay, Rick could actually win again.

Summer blurted out: "Fuck, he even repeated it twice!"

Jerry decided to take the field, in support of his daughter... and of himself: "Honey, why should Summer invent such a thing? Of course, we know that Rick often exaggerates, but hurting Morty... It's a bit too much for him too, isn't it? "

Jerry had a sweet, reassuring voice as he tried to dissolve the harshness of his wife's face into something more accessible. Maybe a cry.

"But it never happened..." the woman said, looking at the ground.

Summer felt something annoying in her throat. They had no idea if it ever happened. The truth was, they didn't know shit. And that even now they didn't know what was going on.

Morty was who knows where, with Rick. And it had been missing for a whole day.

How the fuck was it possible that this was normal in their family?

He had to go to school, smoke weed, go to parties, go to the afternoon clubs, masturbate. Morty was supposed to...

_Be more like you._

Summer sighed before looking down. No, he wasn't like her. And paradoxically, despite the fact that Summer looked like Rick and Beth and Morty to Jerry, the person in the family that the boy looked most like was Rick. They were two misfits, two loners, one because a loser and the other because voluntarily isolated from the rest of the world.

Perhaps it was normal for them to be together and find each other.

Maybe it was their only way of not being alone.

Summer clenched a fist and almost wanted to slap herself.

No. That was Rick. It was the usual way in which the world (her mother), in search of his approval and in fear of his escape, tried to justify him, pleasing him.

But she was not the world (her mother). And she had to help her brother.

"I... I'm sure there is a reason..." Beth seemed weakened, like a wild animal running away, injured.

Jerry went over to her, placing a hand behind her back, in a reassuring caress.

"We will talk when they come back... And we will understand what to do."

Summer watched that scene, noticing another emotional hostage: Jerry, of Beth. Shit, their family was a web of emotional, toxic and insane addictions.

The idea of having broken up with Tony (well, it was he who had broke with her to her umpteenth refusal to have sex) now weighed much, much less.

Summer sighed heavily. There was something wrong. Yes, Rick was mad and violent. But it seemed too much for him too...

The strange thing about those bruises then, was the location.

Even if he wanted to hurt him, there could be punches, slaps. A black eye, also if absurd. Why the neck?

Those long purple fingers printed on Morty's skin made a shiver run down her spine.

At that moment she remembered how much skinny and emaciated Morty was in the last period.

 

 

Rick had decided to have a full check up. That was a technical way of saying that he would have used all the comforts of the hospital to completely clean himself up, but above all to take advantage of the best orthopedists in the galaxy who would have manipulated and massaged him for hours.

Or, it was a way to stay away from Morty for a while.

The boy had just protested, saying he wasn't going to get bored in the corridors waiting for his vertebrae to crack. The scientist had looked at him sufficiently, rolling his eyes to the umpteenth whining, inviting him to go home for a while and pick him up later. To be honest, Morty was quite surprised by that permission: it was not easy for Rick to allow him to drive the spacecraft alone and to generally get away from him.

Both knew that there was still the Summer issue at home, at least on Morty's part. At that thought, the corridors seemed almost more attractive.

The problem was that Morty was hungry, a monstrous hunger.

If he had correctly calculated the alien hours on which the hospital clocks were set, theoretically there was no one at home. Summer at school, Beth at work and Jerry at tennis (or some bankruptcy interviews).

He could also make a stop at home, take a shower, change, eat something and come to pick up Rick. Paradoxical that it was he who had to come and get Grandpa instead of the other way around. If Rick came to pick him up at school it was just to kick him into a portal for who knows where.

Morty got into the ship, his stomach starting to make deafening noises.

 

There, in the ship, watched only by the stars, Morty was free to think again.

Unfortunately.

_This won't change things, Morty._

_It won't change the fact that I want to touch you._

Morty clasped his hands on the wheel.

_Nor that I will do it again._

The boy swallowed, squeezing his thighs together.

There was an interesting restlessness that stirred him, without Morty being able to avoid thinking about those words since they were spoken. 

Without being able to help but remember Rick's big hand above his. His bare chest, his stern expression.

Morty blushed, feeling his cheeks warm.

_Touch me then._

The boy slapped a hand on his forehead, shaking his head.

What the hell was he thinking?!

Of course, he meant an easy and simple gesture like taking his hand ( _loser_ ), but nothing was simple between them. What if Rick misunderstood? What if he took it as a consent?

_Ah, why, wasn't it?_

The boy thought of the fear that Rick's words had given him, but the accelerated beats he had felt were the same as when he had hidden his hand under hims.

Morty stepped on the floor, with a frustrated moan that came out of his throat, growing more and more in volume, in an outlet that could finally have acted.

Morty screamed alone like a jerk in the empty spacecraft.

He was not understanding anything. Nothing, the most absolute nothing. And he was stupid, he knew it, but the amazing thing is that he saw confusion in Rick's eyes also, who certainly had a few more neurons than he has.

_He's one of those..._

The words of the Rick met in front of the alien distributor rang in his head, annoying, almost poisonous.

The truth was that he understood nothing because he knew nothing.

He narrowed his eyes, accelerating on the return home.

 

 

As expected. Deserted house.

The first thing Morty did as soon as he entered the house was to run into the kitchen, finishing off in a record time a pack of sausages and leftovers from dinner earlier. The stomach protested, unprepared for that voracity after all that fast.

Morty ignored it, rushing into the shower to wash away sweat, tears, dirt, thoughts. For the first three, it worked. In the bedroom, Morty retrieved clean jeans and one of his thousand yellow T-shirts taken in stock by H&M. Why the fuck was he wearing only those, thinking about it?

He looked at himself in the mirror for a second: if it hadn't been for the swollen cheek from the blow of the tennis ball, the bite on the hand and various bruises and scratches, he was as good as new.

The next destination was just one: the garage.

When Morty opened the door, it wasn't the spacecraft he was looking at. He looked at the watch on the wall: he still had some time, Rick would not have finished before an hour and a half.

The table was still overturned and the mess they had made was how they left it. Even in that chaos, however, Morty immediately managed to find what he was looking for.

He came over, taking it in his hand.

_Do you touch my things, Morty?_

A shiver ran down his spine, but Rick wasn't there at the moment.

And Morty had to understand. He had to know more.

He set on the portalgun the destination he incredibly remembered, going through the green portal a moment later.

If the Ricks were pieces of shit, it was also true that the Mortys were incredibly stubborn.

  
  


_This won't change things, Morty._

_It won't change the fact that I want to touch you._

As was often the case in those days, Rick and Morty were thinking about the exact same thing, only from two different points of view.

Rick, bare-chested and while an orthopedist was manipulating his leg, brought his hand to slap himself on the face, just as his grandson had done.

What the hell was he thinking?!

The scientist took a deep breath, regardless of the doctor who looked at him with all four raised eyebrows.

He lowered his hand to bring it to his mouth.

What the hell was he thinking abut everything?

He had to listen to Squanchy and sleep to him, not go home. He absolutely shouldn't have gone home in those conditions.

_You should never have gone home._

_You should never have known him._

He didn’t remember exactly everything. He knew he had hurt him, that he had assaulted him. And, in some hidden physical memory, he remembered touching him. He remembered Morty's moans, his panting and the feel of his cock between his fingers. Only the strong self-control and the disgust he felt for himself prevented him from having an erection in front of that doctor.

_Touch me then._

Okay, remembering that sentence put a strain on him.

If Morty was stupid and retarded, it was also true that he was always able to surprise him. Despite the many scenarios that he figured in his head, Rick was not always able to predict him and anticipate his moves.

Maybe it was because Morty wasn't playing any games and wasn't going to win. He was unaware of the complex chessboard of lies, plots and control that Rick had built around the whole universe.

And, not knowing the rules, Morty often changed the game. He could fool the joker in the deck.

_He doesn't want to fool you._

What the hell had he meant by that phrase?

It was totally beyond all expectations.

Was he playing with fire...? Or did he really just want to take his hand?

Rick's heart tightened at the idea of his clenched fist under his palm.

Why?

Why had he taken his hand?

He closed his eyes, remembering the deep sign of the teeth in Morty's palm. They were his, Rick's were not that small. He had even bitten himself... Perhaps to distract himself from what was going on in the garage. Rick narrowed his eyes to remember.

The feel of Morty's lips on hims hit him immediately. That soft, shy mouth whose flavor he already knew.

The idea of having invaded him with his dirty, sour tongue in that gruesome state made his skin crawl. Inside himself, however, in the darkest part of him that always managed to find a way to emerge, Rick was grinning.

Morty had given him confirmation of his greatest fear.

It was no longer the doubt that his tongue had given him on that planet in their first kiss. It was not the confusion and uncertainty of having been reciprocated.

Morty was excited.

He had felt his erection, first tight in his palm, incredulous. Then out of his pants, wrapped in his fingers.

What confirmation was greater than his hard, tight cock in his hand?

_Is that why you kissed him that way? As if you needed air?_

Rick was about to give in, victim of an erection in front of the doctor, before an annoying detail made its way into his mind.

The portalgun.

The memory became clearer, illuminated by a phosphorescent light that was familiar to both him and Morty.

Rick's eyes narrowed again.

That little bastard wanted to fool him quite well.

_Do you touch my things, Morty?_

Again they were thinking about the same thing.

Rick clenched his fists and his teeth at the memory of Morty holding the object in his hands.

Where the fuck did that kid want to go?

And why?

And from whom?

Had he done it before?

_Didn't you give him permission to disappear?_

Rick took a deep breath, unable to relax at the manipulations of the orthopedist and his five arms.

_Use it to go wherever you want. Disappear forever, Morty._

It was supposed to be the hangover. It t must have been the hate that Rick was throwing up on himself. Just for that he could have allowed Morty to leave. To run away from him.

_And you wouldn't follow me?_

... The boy was not stupid.

A life without Morty.

Rick frowned.

Unlike his grandson, he knew how to imagine it perfectly.

Because he already knew it.

A thousand demons, ghosts, monsters, kings of awareness and knowledge, came to find him as they did every night, every morning, every day, until alcohol sent them away. Alcohol or Morty.

_You can always try, Morty._

Rick sat up with his back, making the alien orthopedist jump.

Morty had gone home.

The portalgun was at home.

 

 

Mortytown was scaring the shit out of him, exactly like the first time he went. Except that Rick was there. Now he was alone.

Morty regretted not having disguised himself or put on a jacket, before calling himself a jerk: disguised by whom? They were all the same.

More or less.

Mortys with a joint in their hand and tattoos looked at him with eyes that made him want to go back.

He looked up and found the Creepy Morty sign.

But he could not return. Now that he was finally there he had to understand better.

He swallowed before entering the club.

  
  


"My ass hurts that you have no idea."

The Morty dancer with the earring was massaging his buttock, while the bartender cleaned a glass with a cloth, looking at him sufficiently.

"Only Miami can handle a double penetration and then dance on the pole as if nothing had happened."

"That's not mean that you shouldn't do it tonight..."

The dancer rolled his eyes, making his tongue: "I knoooow... I'm a pro, you know".

The dancer turned, turning his back on the counter, annoyed. It was then that they both saw Morty.

The dancer raised his eyebrow, with a smirk: "Hey... hello, buddy. I-if we know each other, sorry, but you have no particular signs so it is difficult to recognize you”.

Morty was scratching his palm, looking at the two of them a little uncertainly. In fact, it was starting to sweat cold. What if they found out? Did Rick implant a chip that censored his dimension? Or were the Citadel guards already coming to get him? Oh, Jeez.

The bartender looked at him with a frown, while the dancer approached him, still massaging his butt.

“… Are you Morty-sign-language? Fuck, I don't speak it, sorry buddy".

Morty seemed to reactivate at that moment, swallowing: "N-no, I-I ... S-sorry, no I don't...".

And now?

What the hell could he tell him?

The dancer bowed his head before smiling, sympathetically. Morty felt the tension just melt away.

"Oh ... I understand."

The boy came closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. Morty looked at him, just wincing.

"Relax. Here you are safe. There are no Ricks".

Morty was even more speechless now.

Was that really all Morty's problem? Was it really that simple to understand why they had eyes full of fear and uncertainty and the inability to formulate a finished sentence?

Was it always a Rick's fault?

He had to appeal to all his strength to not burst into tears, in a desperate and angry cry in the arms of that stranger identical to him.

But his eyes became shiny.

The dancer looked surprised and rolled his eyes, smiling embarrassed: “Hey hey, no buddy come on, wait! Don't collapse me!" he laughed, a little uncomfortable, before turning to the bartender: "Hey, Mo? Shall we make a cocktail to this rookie?"

The bartender shrugged, before turning around, fiddling with a few bottles.

The dancer put his arm around Morty's shoulders, bringing him to the counter with a smile of encouragement: "Come on, now explain everything to me, okay?".

Explain everything to him? It was exactly the opposite.

Morty sat on the stool, clutching his jeans with his hands, uncomfortable.

Maybe silence was the right strategy.

The dancer laughed again, a little softened, with one arm resting on the counter.

"Hey, there is no shame here. If you want to tell us your story, our ears are open, otherwise we can always get drunk."

Morty frowned: "Do M-Mortys get drunk?"

The dancer shrugged: "I do."

Morty noticed something he hadn't noticed right away: the dancer didn't stutter. How was that possible? His alternate versions all stammered, at least among those he had known.

All but one.

He remembered that strange Morty with the bandage he and Rick had known in that dome shielded by dozens of naked and tortured Morty.

What a fucking adventure.

Often he dreamed of it at night.

He dreamed of that Rick with the scar that divided his mouth, who came to find him in nightmares, sometimes even more often than Rick.

Morty shivered before focusing again on the present. About the question he had asked Rick, too cowardly to answer.

"W-what place is this-this...?"

The bartender turned around, placing two cocktails on the counter. Grasshopper, like the other time. The dancer looked around, spreading his arms: "What is it? This is the Ricks’ playground. "

Morty twisted his stomach and squeezed his hands even harder on the fabric of his jeans.

"W-what ... What do you mean?"

The dancer looked at Morty for a second, as if peering deeply at him, before looking at the bartender next to him, who raised an eyebrow. The lap dancer sighed, before taking a sip of the cocktail.

"I don't know... Why don’t you tell me what you want to know exactly?"

The dancer's smile was something very particular. He was not mocking like that of a Rick, nor insecure and nervous like that of a Morty. He was pleasant, smart and reassuring. That boy had charm. How could he have charm if he was a Morty?

And the bartender... Silent, grim, reserved. He didn't look like any Morty either, in fact, he really looked like a fifty year old man behind a bar counter. Not a kid as he was.

Why?

This was what he wanted to know.

"... The Ricks and Mortys..."

The dancer raised an eyebrow, as if to encourage him to continue. Morty bit his tongue. No, he couldn't say it. Saying it made it real.

_Isn't it already?_

"... They... Do they...?".

"... have sex?" concluded the dancer for him.

The bartender rolled his eyes and went to the back, pretending to fix something, but more likely to escape from that conversation.

Morty blushed at those words, said with a nonchalance that he didn't have.

Then it was true. It was all true, it was not his fantasy.

_You already understood that, jerk. There were several obvious signs, no Sherlock?_

He must have been left speechless, because the dancer laughed again, taking another sip of the cocktail.

"Well, isn't that why you're here?"

He wasn't going to talk about why he was there. He wasn't the point, the point was all.

"And are you here for this?"

The dancer put down his glass, looking at him in silence for a moment. Morty seemed to have caught him off guard.

He smiled, but his voice was firm: "It's none of your business, newbie."

Morty looked at him mortified, looking down: "S-sor-"

The dancer threw him a playful push, playing down with a chuckle.

"Come on, don't worry! I'm kidding! Ahah you are a lot Morty! ”.

Morty raised an eyebrow, struck by what... what was, an insult? Or a simple adjective?

"Anyway... yes, Ricks and Mortys have sex. Often and willingly. And also often and unwillingly. It depends on what Rick you have".

"And on the M-Morty?".

The dancer shrugged, spreading his arms: “It depends very little. We don't generally decide. "

Morty was silent. He felt something in the mouth of his stomach that made his anger boil in his veins.

_You are nothing._

"W-why this happens...?".

The dancer noisily sucked through the straw the last residue of the already finished cocktail, weighing the answer, always with the same carelessness that Morty could not have.

“Latent pedophilia? Extreme sexual fantasy left to be realized? Incest tendency? Genetic self-celebration? Absolute supremacy towards one's Morty and insecurity and need of protection towards one's Rick? ”.

_Love?_

Had he been alone, Morty would have slapped himself for making that word ring in his brain.

Anger still grew, but towards himself, this time.

Morty also grabbed the cocktail and for a moment understood Rick and his compulsive need for alcohol. At the first sip, the boy barely coughed, his throat burning from the substance he was not used to. The dancer smiled.

"Who knows. Maybe all these things together. Maybe something else... just chemistry. "

The dancer placed the empty cocktail on the counter before getting up, stretching. Morty couldn't help but notice how much more adult, graceful and sensual his movements were than hims.

"Is o-only he-here that it happens?" Morty asked again.

The dancer rubbed his buttock again, holding back a hiss of pain.

"Oh, no. It happens everywhere. Here it’s simply paid or otherwise consenting, in a sense. "Legalized" prostitution, let's say ".

Prostitution. Morty was paralyzed. Was that really what he could become a Morty without a Rick? A whore? For another or a thousand other Ricks?

"Obviously there are Rick and Morty who are simply grandfather and grandson."

The dancer laughed and Morty was shaken by that sarcastic laugh.

"Sorry, but the idea always makes me laugh..." the dancer climbed the cube, twirling around the pole.

Morty lowered his face, thinking of the Rick and the Morty in front of the distributor in the hospital. They hadn't made him laugh. At all.

The dancer looked at him curiously, continuing his warm-up stunts. Then, he decided to speak again.

"There is also someone who is together, however."

Morty shot up his face, looking at him. What had he said?

"W-what?".

The dancer made a vertical against the pole and the yellow low-cut T-shirt was lowered, revealing enviable abs. He spoke in a slightly strained voice.

"There are Ricks and Mortys who live together and... well, they're in a relationship."

...

Morty's brain shorted for a moment.

Okay, that was even more shocking than knowing they were having sex.

It was Morty's turn to burst out laughing, incredulous and even with a hint of cynicism. The dancer returned to the ground with his feet, looking at him.

Morty stopped, smiling and looked at him incredulously: "S-seriously?".

"Well… yes. An absurd, incestuous and probably toxic relationship, but they have it."

Morty frowned, shaking his head and shrugging, not understanding. He sounded almost angry: "Why?".

The dancer clung to the pole with his hands, placing one foot on it. He looked over at the stroboscobic sphere and for a second he seemed to be telling that story to himself.

"Because they fell in love."

The two remained silent.

_Love._

How was that possible? Was it really possible?

Morty took another long sip of the cocktail and even the burning of the alcohol didn’t shake him from those thoughts. The head began to get lighter, though.

A Rick who loved a Morty?

A Morty who loved a Rick?

It seemed like a lie.

Or a fairy tale to tell to a frightened boy who swooped into a club.

_Why, was that what you wanted to hear coming here?_

Morty hadn't noticed, but the dancer was studying him. He scrutinized him with attention, tenderness and a pinch of concern.

"Morty”.

Morty jumped with a high-pitched groan, along with the dancer. It was the bartender who was calling the dancer from the back room.

"Here I am, Mo! Sorry, newbie, I'll be right there."

Morty looked at the nearly empty glass before taking the last sip.

 

 

The dancer slipped into the back room, hearing the groans and gasps of those who were already at work in the afternoon from the rooms nearby. The Creepy Morty never stopped, even though from the main hall it might seem like that at times. He approached the bartender, who was in front of a computer and had wide eyes.

"What's up?" he frowned. It was difficult to see the bartender with that surprised expression on his face. In general he was totally colorless even in the most critical moments.

"If it's a virus, I have nothing to do with it, I don't watch porn there anymore."

"Is him".

The dancer approached the PC, bending slightly: "Who?".

On the PC there was a radar: various dots indicated who was inside the room. Ricks and Mortys in the inner rooms, the two of them in the back room and Morty alone, in front of the counter.

Immediately the dancer understood the reason for that expression.

Morty's dot was the only one that didn't have the reference dimension.

The two looked at each other for a moment that seemed very long.

Then they sprinted for the living room. The bartender quickly retrieved a gun from under a table, arming it.

They snapped out of the back room, plunging into the main hall.

Empty.

The counter was empty.

Morty was gone.

The dancer started looking around the hall, but it was useless. The bartender put his hands in his hair, in a frustrated grunt. He slammed his hand hard against the counter.

"Shit!".

  
  


"Give me a fucking ambulance or a w _aaAaaAaAy_ to get out of here or I’ll blow up the hospital."

Rick was bent over the check-in counter, with a clenched fist hovering over the marble and a look that showed nothing of importance.

The nurses and secretaries in front of him looked at him with fear and concern, not understanding if the man in front of them was drunk, mad or serious. Or all three at once.

"S-Sir, I'm sorry but the hospital vehicles are for the exclusive use of the emergen-"

"I don't give a fuck."

Being without the portal gun and without the ship was something that had happened to him more than once, of course. It was not a tragedy, at least in a situation in which he didn’t have the Federation after him. He could build another vehicle, steal one or invent something else. At that moment, however, the fastest way to leave was to take a fucking vehicle from the hospital. And the only reason he was asking for it  _politely_ was because of a residual conscientious scruple.

For that reason and perhaps to delay the moment he found out that Morty was gone.

That the little shit had left him there, accepting the offer and running away to another dimension.

The moment when…

_When he became you._

Rick clenched his fist on the counter. His patience was running out and so was his compassion for hospital patients

The secretary in front of him looked nervously behind Rick. She seemed to be asking for help.

"Mr. Sanchez, i-if you don't calm down we'll have to proceed with our anti-violence security measures."

Surely there was some security officer behind him. Rick raised his eyebrow, looking at her: "Oh, I see how safe you feel now ...".

Out of the corner of his eye Rick saw the guards approaching and didn’t even turn, keeping his voice low. He loved being a terrorist, needless to say, but at the moment he wasn't enjoying it in the least.

"Move another muscle and I'll show you what I mean by anti-violence security measures...".

It was a Mexican stall. It was a perennial Mexican stall with Rick, where the whole universe was his hostage and it didn't even know it.

If Morty had gone, he would have to immediately understand where the hell he had gone. And it wasn't said that it would be easy.

_Then you would go get him._

Sure. Of course he would have gone to get him.

Morty could not leave. Not without him.

There was not even the most remote possibility that Morty could go away from him.

"Rick!".

Rick's eyes widened and immediately the grip of his fist also loosened. His fingers had gone white as strong as he had kept them closed.

Rick turned, along with all the other members of the hospital, looking at a boy with a yellow shirt, who looked at him with huge  and frightened eyes, in the midst of that silence.

Morty.

Rick's stomach tangled and his heart grew for a moment, just a moment, lighter.

He had returned.

He had come back to get him.

He had returned to him and for him.

"R-Rick... W-what's going on...?"

Morty came over, swallowing. He began to scratch a hand, visibly uncomfortable.

Rick's armor, which made him far from the rest of the cosmos and even from himself, returned to take possession of his gaze, surprised and with a hint of emotion until the second before.

Of course he was back. He was not authorized to do anything else.

Nobody could run away from Rick unless Rick allowed it.

The scientist left the counter with the relief of the staff, who sighed almost in unison.

Rick turned his metallic, icy gaze on his grandson, who stopped as the man approached. Rick grabbed his wrist, tiny, yanking him away from there without saying a word.

That kid didn't know, but he had saved them all.

 

 

If there was cosmic silence in space, the same could be said for the interior of the spacecraft.

Rick was driving, staring straight ahead. Morty looked out of the glass, occasionally glancing nervously at Rick out of the corner of his eye.

They hadn't exchanged a single word since they met in the hospital. Just a few grunts from Rick in response to Morty's circumstantial comments.

The boy was nervous.

At that moment he would have preferred to see him shouting, burping and insulting him. Rick was creepy in silence.

It was obvious what Morty was thinking at the moment: had he found out?

Did he know that he had gone to Creepy Morty or that he had used the portal gun? Was that why he was so pissed off?

Morty bit his lips, his heart pounding fast in his chest. He was playing with fire that just in that last period was flaring out of control.

Wanting to fool the devil was something nobody was able to do. Imagine him.

The truth was, the answers he'd been looking for in Mortytown had now tripled the questions. Morty was even more confused than before and the man next to him was not the right person to ask for explanations.

_What answers are you afraid of?_

If the sex between Ricks and Mortys was something unspeakable, the idea that they had relationships was even more surreal.

_"Because they fell in love."_

Yes. It still sounded like a lie.

Morty let out a whimper of frustration that he couldn’t hold back, hoping Rick didn’t notice. Well, even if it were, he probably wouldn't have given a shit. For once his indifference was comfortable.

Morty moved on the seat, uneasy, barely touching his palm which was still marked by the bite it had inflicted on his own.

Being in the spacecraft with Rick, alone, close, was something difficult to manage after the last events. But that idea that the dancer had put in his mind was literally driving him crazy. Did Rick and Morty really have relationships...? He could not find peace.

_What the fuck do you care, pussy? What do you want, a boyfriend?_

Morty silenced his head, which had lately become more ruthless than usual.

No, it wasn't that. It was just curiosity... It was...

_Isn't that a way to save Rick, at least in part?_

Morty stuck his nails into the flesh, just where the bite mark was.

_Isn't that a way to save yourself too, perverse piece of shit?_

"Does it hurt?".

Morty jumped, turning to Rick who had almost forgotten he was there. The scientist's eyes were directed towards his hand, the same one that had gone to holed up under his palm at that strange moment in the hospital.

How long have he been looking at him? Morty hadn't even noticed.

The boy looked down at his own hand, which now also had the marks of his nails.

"Uh? N-no, Rick, I-I'm fine, it's ju-just a little bruised, don't worry. "

"I don’t".

The man's voice was colorless, devoid of any emotional inflection.

Rick's eyes were still on his hand, before rising to his arms, then to his neck, then to Morty's cheek. Morty was a map of marks, bruises, blows, scratches, bites. He knew it was what he was looking at.

Being analyzed by those eyes moved something inside him, twisting his stomach.

Every time Rick looked at him like this he felt a project, an experiment, but he also felt three-dimensional and real.

It was the price of existing.

Rick raised an arm and Morty jumped back on the seat, stepping back a bit. Rick stopped, looking at him with a frown and a strange expression. He seemed almost... offended. Maybe, sorry.

Rick sighed, before pulling a tube out of his pocket, handing it to Morty.

The boy moved his gaze from Rick to the object a couple of times, before taking it carefully.

"Wha-what’s this?".

"It's the lotion I put on you when..."

They both knew where and when.

Rick looked away, looking straight ahead again.

"... Just put it on, you piece of shit."

Morty looked at him for a moment, before opening the tube, pressing a little liquid on his palm. He rubbed his hand with the cold lotion, shivering for a second.

Earth was approaching. It could be seen in the distance.

_Maybe that's why he gave it to you. You will soon be home. So nobody will know what the fuck he's done._

The doubt that flashed in his head kept him busy for a few seconds. When he looked down, the wounds on his hands and arms were gone. That lotion was truly miraculous.

Morty also ran it around his neck, feeling goosebumps popping up immediately. For a moment, he regretted Rick's warm hands smearing it on him. Maybe for more than a moment.

He closed the tube, passing it back to Rick, who turned to him, inspecting him again.

"Don’t forget your cheek".

Morty went to touch it, feeling the swelling of the tennis ball that had come straight to his face.

"Oh... N-no, I did this myself. I played tennis with Jerry and I got a ball in my face."

Rick's laughter.

Or at least, this was what he expected for the humiliating admission.

Instead, Rick arched his unibrow, questioning.

"And…?".

Morty blinked, before lowering the tube he was still holding out.

“It wasn’t y-you, Rick. There’s no n-need to hide it. "

A silence fell in the spacecraft and Morty didn't understand why it was so heavy.

Rick looked at him as before: his eyes were a mix of anger, offense, displeasure, amazement. He seemed shocked, almost. He put his hands away from the wheel, turning to Morty, who squeezed his fingers--stilled greased--on the shirt, twisting it.

What? What had he said?

Rick shook his head, as if holding back a rain of insults or a river of words that struggled to get out and got stuck in his throat. Yes, Rick was much better when he screamed. When silent, he was terrifying.

"Wha... Wha-what?" Morty looked at him with wide eyes, as if expecting an explosion at any moment.

Nothing.

Rick, with his elbows resting on his knees, took his head in his hands, totally covering his face. The only thing sticking out were his clumps of hair of that absurd color.

Morty opened his eyes even wider, leaning over the scientist after a while and going to touch his shoulder with his fingertips.

"R-Rick... What... What did I say?"

Rick jerked his head up as soon as he was touched by Morty. His eyes were bloodshot and he had a furious, terrifying look. Who’s he mad at?

"Not... That's not why I fucking gave it to you!! It's not to hide what the fuck I did to you! It's to make you... I-It's to make you feel... ".

...

"… better?" Morty finished the sentence in his place, ready for another fit of anger. The word was too difficult to say, evidently.

Rick was silent, looking at him displaced. Then, he turned back to the wheel, covering half of the face Morty could see with his hand.

“Shut up, Morty. J-just shut the fuck up."

For a moment Morty believed that Rick would explode again, if not in tears, in a crisis like the one he had in the garage. The event had been extraordinary, however, and it was almost impossible that it would happen again.

Morty looked at his grandfather bent over himself and the wheel, frowning at the acquired impotence he had and now knew he had. If he was helpless on everything, he was even more on power in person, Rick. Although he knew in part what he was feeling. Because he was feeling it too.

The overwhelming awareness of their attraction and the disgust towards that truth.

Rick grunted, going to take the flask in his pocket, with an urgency typical of drug addicts and alcoholics. The need for the object was present in everything: the feverish movement of his hands, his broken breath and the eyes that wandered everywhere except on Morty.

The scientist raised his flask to bring it to his lips, which he didn’t reach.

One hand was tight around his wrist, blocking him from reaching his face. Morty was stopping him. He had stood up beside Rick.

The scientist looked at him, before swallowing: "W-what the fuck are you doing, Morty?".

Morty bit his lip, gathering all the courage he didn't know he had: "N-no, Rick."

The scientist thinned his eyes, curling a corner of his mouth: "No?".

He pushed him away, chasing him away. What the fuck did he think he was doing, to tell him what he could do?

"What the fuck do you want, you lil’ shit?!".

He brought the flask to his lips again, but Morty snapped his arm down again, placing his whole body between him and the flask. Hee looked at him with a sort of strange desperation, the same that leads you to do things you've always been afraid to do.

And Morty had always been afraid to stop Rick from drinking.

Always.

The black sclera of his eyes, however, had struck him more than the rest had done.

He could no longer see him self-destruct.

However, not now that maybe he was one of the reasons why he did it.

_Do you think his way of life is your fault? How important do you feel?_

_But above all, the fault of what? To attract your grandfather?_

The scientist looked at him displaced, surprised by that imprudence and that stance.

"W-what the fuck are you doing, you stupid shit? Get the fuck off, Morty, y-you don't understand shit, you idiot, useless motherfu- ".

Morty closed his mouth, locking him in a hug that made Rick dumb and helpless. Yes, helpless.

The boy was holding him tightly, standing next to him, his face hidden in the hollow of his shoulder. Rick's eyes were wide, with that weight on him that had not collided with him as in the last few days, but had spontaneously come to stand against him.

Morty's scent was that of a recent shower, of clean clothes. It was ringing his mind, exciting and relaxing him at the same time, even though Morty couldn't have known.

Yes, he had gone home. He had washed and changed his clothes, that's all. He hadn't run away, he hadn't gone anywhere. He had never wanted to do it.

Those were the thoughts that bombarded Rick's mind, relentlessly, convincing him of what the boy had done in those hours away from him.

"S-stop, Rick" Morty seemed to stop Rick’s thoughts, unconsciously. He held him even harder.

Morty himself was smelling Rick's scent, adult and pungent. He hadn't been drinking for almost a day and the stench of alcohol was much less noticeable.

"P-please, s-stop."

Rick wasn't touching him, still with his arms outstretched and his flask in his hand. Morty could not see his expression, but he felt the tension of the body he was holding tight. He knew that Rick was uncomfortable with the physicality, at least of that type. He could count the times when he touched him in affection. And he had practically never given him a hug. He was not capable of it. He was simply able to do anything except that. Literally anything.

Their hands that had touched on that hospital bed were rarer than any absurd comet or planet.

"M-Morty... Get... Get the fuck off...".

He couldn't understand if he was angry, but he certainly had to be. There was no doubt.

Morty shook his head, still firmly tied to his neck. Rick grunted, pulling his face away from Morty's, tickling his cheek with one of his clumps of hair.

"I want to ma-make you feel better too, R-Rick...".

That phrase came out on its own, making Morty uneasy.

If possible, the scientist stiffened even more, in what seemed like a chill to Morty. What was it, disgust?

He could almost feel the man's jaw crackling.

"My “better” isn't the same as what you want, Morty."

Morty opened his eyes and this time it was his turn to shiver.

Really? It was really like this?

So why had he had that erection? Why had he saved him? Why was he holding him like that? Why had he taken his hand?

Why had he returned that first kiss?

The truth was that if Rick was sick, they had something in common for once.

Morty was also sick of him.

At Creepy Morty he had answers, certainties and a thousand other doubts. But finally, however, he understood that he wasn’t so far from that world, nor from Rick.

The Rick and Morty in front of the distributor... he was far from them, light years away. He envied them, hated them to death in the jealousy of such a simple relationship, free of masks, of pain and perversion.

But would he really want it?

Would he really want that Rick and be that Morty?

"O-only I know wha-what I want, R-Rick."

It wasn't true, he didn't know it yet. But maybe he was beginning to understand it. And then you had to bluff with the devil.

Rick took him by the shoulders and it was Morty's time to feel the tension tingling in his body. He pulled him away from him and the two finally looked at each other. Morty blushed, too close to him and aware that the gesture he had made went far beyond the limits of their relationship.

But defining what the limits were and what their relationship was now was too difficult.

"Tell me, then."

Rick was staring at him, ruthlessly, leaving him no way out. Morty had his heart bouncing in his chest, his shoulders still squeezed by Rick's long fingers, which, however, were not hurting him.

He shook his head slightly, as if searching for words, moving his eyes to look within himself.

Nobody looked like he did. Nobody in the universe.

Rick took it as an admission.

"See? You don't have a clue, Mor-".

Again, Rick was blocked from speaking. This time it wasn't a hug, though, but Morty's mouth resting on his.

The boy closed his eyes, in a kiss full of inexperience and fear, but also of a lot of courage. If it had been another context, Rick would have melted from tenderness: the first real kiss of his grandson, awkward and shy.

Too bad he was giving it to him, to his grandfather, who had stolen it from him long ago.

But that was Morty's first real kiss. The one given without obligations, spontaneous and with awareness.

_The girls you made out with? Did you forget them?_

They were different... But how could he know if there had been some sort of mental coercion on Rick's part, though?

He couldn’t.

What he knew, however, was that he wanted to do it. Maybe longer than he would ever admit.

Rick who melted under him, breathing him into that kiss, was something he didn't want to get away from.

The scientist opened his mouth with unexpected kindness, opening his clumsy lips with his tongue, in a new kiss different from the previous one. Now, Rick commanded.

The man's hands slipped from the boy's shoulders, going to encircle him on the hips. Morty put his hands on Rick's chest, feeling him under the cloth and remembering in a flash what had caused him to see Rick bare-chested in the hospital.

Rick tightened his grip, guiding Morty, making him sit on his lap, continuing to kiss him as he had never done, not even on that planet. They were careful kisses, delicate as far as possible, but above all, slow. They were not as voracious and persistent as the others, nor desperate.

Both, for the first time, were really enjoying them.

Morty broke away, to catch his breath, and Rick's eyes, with lowered eyelids, invested him fully. His gaze was liquid and deep, hypnotic. He had never looked at him like that, as Morty never had.

"Ma-maybe what I want isn’t so different...".

Rick's lips finally curled into a smile.

Rick was handsome.

Powerful and beautiful.

Age had not ruined him, but had given him a charm that the boys Morty’s age didn’t have.

He had tried, in his fantasies, to watch porn with men of Rick’s age, but it was not the same thing. It wasn't the age that identified Rick. It was Rick who identified Rick.

Morty shivered, feeling his long fingers on the skin, which went under his shirt to probe his hips, in a caress that was a taste.

Morty blushed again, when, sitting as he was on Rick, he felt something hard going to push against him. Without thinking about it, he squeezed Rick's shirt, as if silently asking him to stop, in a hint of fear.

Rick's smile turned into a sneer, a hint of a low laugh.

"Are you sure, M-Morty?"

 

  * **Approach to: garage. Impact in: one minute -**



 

The robotic voice of the spacecraft went to interrupt the moment.

"Riiiiiiing. Saved by the bell, uh _MoooOooOrty_?".

Morty pursed his lips, before leaving offended and embarrassed, but without success. Rick approached him in one last kiss, where he invaded him with all his tongue, making him moan by surprise. Soon after, Morty let himself go, feeling his hot, burning face as he rested his hands on Rick's chest again.

Then he smiled at him when they landed at home.

Morty looked down, unable to hide a smile too.

Rick put his hand under Morty’s chin, raising it slightly and bending his own face as he looked at him.

Yes, Rick was handsome.

"... So Jerry plays tennis, huh? Fuck, he's really gay. "

Morty laughed, shaking his head.

It seemed to him that he hadn't laughed for a lifetime.

 

The moment they got off the ladder of the spacecraft, they couldn’t help looking at each other, with a hinted and almost stupid smile.

Morty felt his cheeks still warm.

With a snap, Rick turned on the garage lights and they found themselves in front of the same mess they had left since the other day. But it wasn’t that that tangled the stomach of both, or at least not only.

The whole family was at the door and all three were watching them.

Jerry, who seemed to swell his chest, played the role of the head of the family for the umpteenth time.

"Rick. We need to talk".

Morty looked at Summer, who hadn't taken her eyes off him for a moment.

Shit.

 

 

"Dad, we're just asking you to explain what happened!" Beth had tears in her eyes.

"Yes, Rick, it doesn't seem so complicated to explain, even for ‘inferior beings’ like us," said Jerry, with a pompous arrogance typical of when he was right.

"Like _you_ , Jerry, don't reflect your shortcomings on _otheeeeEeEeeErs_."

"Dad, let's be serious! Why did Morty have those bruises on his neck? Was it you?".

Morty looked at Summer, who returned his gaze. Her arms were folded and her brow furrowed and she looked at him insistently from the beginning, peering at him.

"Oh God, Beth, relax, it's not the first time that Morty returns a little bummed by the adventures. He's alive, isn't he? "

"Yes, but it wasn’t an adventure. It was you.” Summer looked at Rick, and despite the firmness of her words, her eyes were uncertain, sad.

Rick glared at her, pursing his lips. He reached into his lab coat pocket and Morty immediately knew what he was going to get.

No. He couldn't always solve things in that way.

"It wasn't him."

Everyone present looked at Morty in surprise. Rick and Summer were literally blown away, Beth relieved and Jerry... well, it was as if someone had dropped his ice cream on the ground.

"What?!" Rick and Summer said in unison, looking at each other the second after.

Jerry gritted his teeth, trying to smile, "Morty, you don't have to be afraid to tell us what happened."

"I mean, yes-i-it was him ..."

Jerry brightened, while Rick and Summer tended for different reasons.

"... but it wa-wasn't his fault. T-there was a flo-flower on the planet whe-where we w-went the night before..."

Rick and Summer peered at him, not understanding where he was going. Fuck, those two were identical.

"... that ma-made people aggre-aggressive and they sprayed it on R-Rick and so-so... Tha-that’s why."

Silence fell over everyone before Beth blew out a sigh of relief. Evidently, the stammering and unstable explanation was enough for her.

"See?! I knew there was an explanation!".

Rick turned to Jerry, raising his unibrow with a grin: "Obviously".

Jerry clenched his fists before Summer turned his hopes on again. The _hopes that he had beaten his son._

"And that bruise on the cheek?" the girl asked, nailing Rick, who didn't stop smiling.

"Maybe Jerry can answer this question, huh?" the scientist looked at his son-in-law, who gave him a confused look.

Summer and Beth looked at him in shock.

"E-hey, but I didn't do anything!" Jerry raised his hands innocently.

"I'm not the only one with little secrets here, then..." Rick looked at his daughter, starting to play the part of the saint: "Beth, I’m-I'm sorry to be a spy, honey, but Jerry doesn't go to do interviews in the morning... He goes play t-tennis. "

Okay, it was clear. The women of the house were not understanding a shit. Jerry's eyes widened, caught in the fact.

"But what does that have to do with that bruise?!" Summer exploded.

"Morty, that is a pussy, managed to get hit by the tennis balls machine too ..." Rick raised his hand, in a wave of greeting before going away: "N-now that we're done with this bullshit, I'm going back in the garage. I'm fine anyway, thanks for asking. "

Rick slammed the garage door hard, leaving the family in the living room in silence.

The quiet didn't last long. Beth started screaming at Jerry, who became tiny, without being able to defend himself from the accusations about all the money he had spent on sports equipment without saying anything to Beth. The two continued to fight, leaving the room and continuing into the kitchen, with the door closed.

Morty and Summer remained alone in the living room.

Immediately, the younger brother felt uncomfortable, but mostly guilty.

Summer was trying to defend him and he had... disappointed her? Betrayed her? He defended Rick while she exposed herself for him.

_Well, it looks more like a fault towards yourself, doesn't it?_

"S-Summ-".

"Listen, Morty, I don't give a shit about what happened or how you want to tell people about it."

Morty was frozen, swallowing and trying to speak again.

"Just think about how much of what you do, you do it for yourself or for someone else." 

Summer looked at him sternly, in a mixture of concern, but also of deep anger and helplessness.

"I know you don't know shit about psychological abuse, but..."

Summer twisted her mouth, not knowing how to go on. She took a long, deep breath before exhaling sadly. She closed his eyes, looking down. Morty took a step towards her, feeling like shit. A real shit.

"Summer...".

Summer reached into her white pants pocket, pulling out a half-closed note.

"Morty, you only know the truth...".

Morty took the note, without opening it, continuing to look at her sister in question.

"And in case you don't know... Find it out."

Summer looked at him one last time, before turning around and leaving. Morty heard her go upstairs, as he opened the note.

His heart stopped in his chest, while a gasp of surprise choked in his throat.

Written in pen, with Rick's elegant handwriting, there were indications to get to the room of memories.

 

Thanks to FleebJuice5 who appreciated the Dancer Morty phrase about the double penetration... :P Follow on <https://twitter.com/Hajime_Hinata01>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so happy that this ff is continuing. I had never written such a long one before (145 pages for now!)  
> Sorry for the wait, but the translation steals time (as always I thank the talented bloodrunsred for the help!).  
> I'd really, REALLY love to know what you think of the story so far. I have received very few comments despite the many views and the various chapters and I would like to know something about the plot on your part <3 get alive, don't be shy, you would really encourage me a lot!


	12. Planetarium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I want you more than want  
> And no I need you more than need  
> I want to hold you more than hold  
> When you stood in front of me

He had won.

The absolute and undeniable confirmation that he was the God of the universe and of all dimensions had been apart of a miraculous demonstration yet again.

_"It's not a race, R-Rick."_

The certainty of his omnipotence had been sealed by the kiss of the one thing he wanted and could not have.

_Is that little boy important enough to decide such a thing? You are softening._

Rick's monstrous and titanic ego was restored again, cured of all the injuries that being attracted to his grandson had inflicted on him. His feeling helpless, guilty, immoral (more than usual) and perverse (much more than usual) had been swept away by those shy and clumsy lips that had pressed on his spontaneously. Without force.

_Of course, because people are always free to be spontaneous with you. Does the phrase 'psychological coercion' mean anything to you?_

Rick, bent over the lab table, was rolling a screwdriver with his finger without paying it the slightest attention. His face was propped on one hand and he stared straight ahead, concentrated.

Morty occupied his head more than any project did.

No calculation and no equation were beyond his control as much as the boy's thoughts and wishes. His emotional intelligence was infinitely less than that of the practical one, though he would never have admitted it. Incapacity was something he could not bear in himself, nor in anyone else. For this he hated anyone; nobody was without incapacity. Unity had attracted him for a reason: an almost totally perfect being, capable of assimilating any entity and, therefore, any ability.

Rick took the screwdriver in his hand, still without looking at it. He propped its iron end on the table, making it screech with steel, narrowing his eyes.

The hand he was resting on passed through his tufts, in a grasp that stretched out his electric hair.

How was it possible that he was still unsure of what Morty had done?! He had kissed him, he had fucking kissed him. He had felt his cock stir under his hands as he touched it, assaulting him when he was drunk! (Shit, how did that kid grow up?)

The question was another.

How was it possible that he was even vaguely insecure? On anything, regardless of Morty.

Rick took a deep breath, gritting his teeth.

He left the screwdriver on the table, grabbing the portal gun that was next to him.

_The kid screwed your brain, huh? Do you even need demonstrations?_

It was time to undo that uncertainty once and for all. He wouldn't have tried it for a moment longer.

He wanted to give up control, for once.

Rick directed the portal gun behind him, opening a green vortex that illuminated the garage.

Morty had been motionless on the bed since entering the room after the talk with Summer. Lying down, he looked at the ceiling with his forehead slightly wrinkled.

Squeezed in his hand, there was still the note with instructions to get to the memory room.

Mortytown wasn't enough to double the questions, now his sister also seemed to know more than he did. Or not? In any case, Summer knew where the room was. And he doesn't. It was as he thought: it was under the garage, but the codes and hiding places to reach it had been well designed, as was expected for Rick.

_Who knows what he is hiding down there, huh?_

Morty closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't comparable to what had happened anyway.

Morty had kissed Rick.

He had kissed him voluntarily.

_You didn't want to make him drink._

No, it wasn't true. Well, yes, but he _really_ wanted to kiss Rick.

He had finally wanted to answer his questions with something concrete, palpable and real.

He was sure of it. He kissed him because he wanted to do it. Because he himself was mad about his smell, his hands and his voice. About his eyes.

The scientist's look after that kiss was something he would never forget, even if Rick wanted to.

Nobody had ever looked at him like that. Nobody.

Morty covered his face, exhaling deeply, feeling his face extremely hot.

No, he had to stay in control. That wasn't a crush on a school friend of his, nor the long-term dreams about Jessica and their marriage.

That was his fucking grandfather.

And apart from that he was an intergalactic, alcoholic, drug addict and asshole terrorist. Emphasis on the asshole part.

Even if it had been declinable in a normal life, it wasn’t a crush on the school hooligan.

 _Crush_. It was not a crush. It was something that Morty was unable to handle.

Nobody can handle Rick.

Morty opened his eyes, seeing before him the smile that Rick had dedicated to him in the spaceship. His stomach twisted at the thought and the boy felt annoyed for a moment by the thought that not even Jessica had given him all those butterflies in the stomach.

It was a real smile. Also different from the real smile that Rick had dedicated to him on Creepy Morty, seeing him drink his first cocktail. It was still something else... There was an emotion that he couldn’t capture hidden at that moment in space, far from everyone.

That feeling was something that at that moment was worth more than doubts, fears and remorse. More than the fear of feeling wrong, sick and victimized.

A familiar sound broke the silence of the room, while a green light illuminated it, making Morty jump.

The boy stood up with his back on the bed and his eyes were lit by the portal that had suddenly opened.

Rick.

Or at least, he thought he saw him come out of there.

Morty frowned as the seconds passed and the scientist didn’t cross the passage, simply leaving the portal open.

Suddenly, Morty understood.

It was an invitation.

As usual, the boy softened Rick's actions: it was a choice. Rick was offering him a choice, for once, instead of going into his room without permission.

_It seems more like a temptation. Or giving him official permission to do what he wants._

Morty got out of bed, going to the doorway and feeling his heart beat faster, in a hyperventilating principle that he had learned to hold off.

The passage seemed to be the door to Hell.

_Go through it, and everything will change._

_Go through it, and you will grow._

_Go through it and you will never go back._

_"My “better” isn't the same as what you want, Morty."_

Morty took a deep breath, before passing through the portal.

No. It wasn't true.

The garage was dark, if it had not been for the phosphorescent light of the portal and for a small light bulb on the table. It was the one Rick used at night when he had to focus on small inventions, with millimeter operations.

As far as Morty could see, the room was again tidy. There was no trace of... of what had happened the other day. Even the garage door that he had broken while taking off had been repaired.

_You are in the same place where it happened, with the same man it happened with. Why shouldn't it happen again?_

Morty shivered and for an instant he felt tempted to go back to his room.

_Cute. Do you think you're safe there?_

The boy stepped back and bumped into something. Someone.

He stopped breathing, thinking about what had happened the other time: there was the same green light, Rick was behind him.

_"Do you touch my things Morty?"_

He had stuck in the wolf's den, without being forced to do so.

Morty was an idiot. A jerk, masochistic and stupid.

Morty hugged himself, feeling Rick behind him, towering imposingly. He felt tears sting his eyes and remained silent, prey to the fear of being helpless, defenseless.

As if Rick could have heard his thoughts in that instant ( _could he?_ ), he closed the portal, eliminating that disturbing green light and replacing it with something very, very different.

Morty saw many planets, stars and galaxies appear in front of him, made of a clear light that illuminated the room with a thousand suspended and floating reflections. They were holograms, projections of reality that he had visited or only imagined. Morty had already seen that show: it was the portable world map that he had activated together with Jessica during that party, before seeing Squanchy jerking himself in the closet.

The boy was hypnotized for a few seconds by those hypnotic and fascinating lights, which filled the squalid darkness of the garage transforming it into their personal microcosm and that Rick was giving to him, and only to him. Morty smiled, with huge eyes bathing in another emotion, other than fear.

While he was still embracing, other arms went to contain him, resting on his and tightening him in turn. An embrace within an embrace.

He felt so small at that moment with Rick that contained him completely and rested his face in the hollow of his shoulder. It was the hug that he had not returned to him in the spacecraft and that now he was giving him without being asked and without Morty was able to see him.

Morty felt warm, his cheeks hot at the mere smell of Rick and his breath on his neck.

As if he had felt his fear, Rick had been able, for once, to dissolve it.

Surrounded by a thousand planets and galaxies, as in the spaceship a few hours earlier, they were the two of them again alone. Everything disappeared: the gaze of Summer, Jerry and Beth, the room of memories, the Creepy Morty, alcoholism, drugs.

At that moment there was only Rick and Morty.

Morty put his hands on Rick's, crossed in the middle of the boy's torso. He squeezed his fingers with his much smaller ones.

He realized how obsessed he was with his hands, thinking not only of when he had looked for them in the hospital, but also of when he caressed himself, rubbing his face against Rick's hand. After the beating at school, on the bed. A pathetic search for his caress, which he desperately needed.

He needed Rick. But not only of him. He needed everything he could and didn't want to give it.

On his warm cheeks he felt Rick's lips, kissing him softly, almost in an attempt that didn’t suit him, but that was like that portal. He was making him choose, showing him what he hadn't shown him. Or like those holograms: an attempt to make him feel safe after so much violence.

Rick was welcoming him.

With his fears, his fears, his doubts.

He was simply receiving him, with everything Morty had to give to Rick. By giving him something in turn.

Morty clenched his hands again, hard, biting his lips without being able to hold back a shiver.

He felt Rick's body tighten, his lips peel off his cheek. The scientist breathed deeply, without leaving his body and without leaving him.

"Are you afraid, M-Morty?"

Morty felt his eyes still shiny, stinging like crazy, ready to explode for the umpteenth time.

"Y-yes...".

Rick loosened his grip on his arms and Morty felt him detach himself with his chest from his back, until he stopped him, still squeezing his hands.

The boy turned into that embrace until he found himself in front of Rick, raising his face to look at him. The man's gaze was uncertain, unstable, worried. It wasn't easy to see him like that, even though it had happened often lately.

Morty wasn't the only one who was afraid.

"B-but ... I-I'm ... I'm fine, Rick."

Morty managed to say it, even to himself.

True, he was afraid. He was frightened and absolutely unprepared for such a great truth, but if he had to be guided by something, it must have been the emotion he felt in that instant. In that instant he would not have liked to be anywhere else but there. He couldn't miss what Rick was at the time.

Perhaps the biggest fear was that he would never see him again like that.

Rick's hand went up to his cheek where a tear had fallen without Morty even noticing. The man took it away, passing over it with his thumb.

He answered nothing, but allowed himself to smile again before lowering himself to his lips. The two closed their eyes for a moment before kissing.

Again, a kiss different from the previous ones. He was neither shy nor desperate this time, but he seemed full of happiness that Rick could not communicate by voice. Even those planets floating around them were a symbol of the scientist's inability to communicate, but of the world, of the worlds, that he had inside.

That feeling gave way to a passion that led Rick to invade Morty's mouth, which filled him with moans of pleasure and surprise as he placed his hands on his lab coat.

Rick also went with his other hand to take his face, pulling him towards himself, so much so that Morty stood on tiptoe in that kiss that continued, even now that Rick pushed him back, making him move back and overcome the holograms, crossing them.

Rick brought his hands down again, going to squeeze his ass tightly, lifting Morty as if he weighed nothing and placing him on the table. Morty had his heart in his throat and his ability not to hyperventilate was severely tested, especially with Rick's tongue invading his mouth, without letting him breathe.

Morty broke away, panting, and Rick attacked his neck, as if he could not keep his lips away from him even to catch his breath. His long fingers danced under the boy's shirt, lifting it in a caress that crossed his whole torso.

Morty had goosebumps, despite feeling hot. The frozen steel surface of the table was able to overcome the fabric of his jeans, making him shiver, as did Rick's hands, so large that they seemed to be everywhere.

It was the first time in his life that he was touched like this and at that precise moment Morty was growing more than in any other adventure ever faced. If the portal represented the unknown then Rick was knowledge.

But was he ready, though?

Rick returned to his lips and Morty kept his eyes half open, as did the scientist, in a liquid and hungry look. Those gray eyes filled every single day since Rick arrived at their home, changing his life forever. They were terror and amazement, depression and euphoria; they were life, in all its crazy forms.

Morty put his hands on Rick's shoulders, leaning towards him and deepening the kiss, closing his eyes. The scientist welcomed him, continuing to run his hands over his chest, removing his shirt and breaking away from the kiss.

Morty blushed violently and couldn't help grabbing the shirt in Rick's hand, moving it close to his chest to cover himself. He bit his lips, terribly unsure of his body: Rick had had and could have anyone. What was he compared to the universe?

Rick frowned before understanding Morty's gesture. The scientist made a low laugh that melted Morty with unpredictable speed. Rick approached, illuminated by the lights of the stars, as he put the shirt aside, making it fall to the ground.

"Hey hey, like I haven't seen you before..."

Not very reassuring. Morty felt a stupid fucking virgin at that moment and escaped a kiss from Rick, turning around in embarrassment. The man didn’t stop, going back to put his lips on his neck, just sucking it. The whimper he had in response made him smile on his skin.

If on the spacecraft he had thought that Rick was beautiful, now he couldn't help but think that he was also fucking _good_. Of course, after seeing him with Unity, he expected nothing less: who was able to satisfy an entire planet, without being tired yet?

Then, of course, Morty had absolutely no experience and the hypersensitivity of his hormones certainly didn't help, but... he was sure Rick was actually good. He knew exactly how to move and how much to dose the movements of his fingers, his tongue, his mouth. Morty turned back to him, who detached himself from his neck with a grin.

Fuck, Rick was sexy. With all the pros and cons of the case, with its arrogance, its security. His asshole face, essentially.

He was definitely not a person Morty could handle. He was afraid of everything and Rick was not afraid of anything.

The man was leaning over him and Morty felt his erection rubbing against his leg. Here, what he was afraid of.

Morty squeezed his lab coat with both hands, hiding his face on Rick's shoulder. The man put his hand on his thigh, climbing more and more. Morty moaned uncomfortably, feeling goosebumps all over his bare back.

"R-relax, baby...".

_Baby._

It was a word he had said to him only when drunk or when excited for something. Never like this, never in this context. Morty felt his stomach melt and his legs weaken.

A distant phrase, however, went to resound in his head.

_“I just got to relax and go with the flow”._

Rick came with both hands to the opening of Morty's pants, unbuttoning them. Morty squeezed his lab coat more tightly, still with his face hidden in the hollow of his shoulder, shivering as he felt his fingers brush his erection.

Rick unzipped his fly and Morty could hear his swollen boxers finally getting some breath. The embarrassment of knowing that they were slightly wet made him blush violently.

His heart was about to explode. Rick had never seen his erection (?), the closest he'd come was touching it that time when drunk. What if... if he didn't like it? If he hadn't found it "adequate"? If he had made fun of him? The complexes towards his penis, typical of adolescence, invested him in full.

_Hey, he wants to fuck his grandson. He’s not a guy who adheres to formalism._

"I-I'm embarrassed... R-Rick, I-I...".

"You are beautiful, Morty."

Morty widened his eyes and slowly looked back at him, pulling away from his shoulder. The boy's huge eyes mirrored in the man's adult eyes, who looked at him as if he were... as if he were really beautiful.

That’s how he saw Rick at that moment.

Rick kissed him again, perhaps feeling uncomfortable about saying too much. As if to balance the sweetness of that sentence, Rick lifted him with an arm around his torso, lowering his pants and boxers, freeing his erection.

Morty moaned in surprise on his mouth, bringing his arms around his neck. He squeezed his legs, without even thinking about it, feeling his erect member free from the cloth. He was sitting, practically naked, on the icy table that sent chills all over his body.

He exhaled deeply to calm himself, while Rick put a large hand on his back, going to caress his buttock.

"Are you cold, M-Morty?"

The boy bit his lips before nodding furiously. Yes, he could place the blame on the cold, despite the flames that burned fiercely in his cheeks.

Rick picked him up again suddenly, grabbing him by his ass with both hands and lifting him off the table. He sat down on the swivel chair, placing Morty astride him. With a jerk, he freed Morty from his jeans, which got caught around his ankles. The violence with which he took them away also took away his socks. The holograms were on the other side of the room, reflecting only the soft lights of their projections on them.

Morty was completely naked, on top of a fully dressed Rick.

Was it just his impression, or was there a kind of latent humiliation in that disparity?

But it was certainly less cold now. Rick's body was definitely warmer than that cold hard surface.

There was something else just as hard, though.

Rick's erection was pressing on Morty's. They were at the same height, divided only by the fabric of his pants. Morty gasped from the contact and Rick had to clench his teeth to restrain a moan that scratched his throat.

"Fuck…" the hoarse voice with which Rick spoke that word made Morty's cock jump, almost painfully.

Rick put his hands on his belt, snapping it open. Morty felt his heart pounding in his throat as Rick lowered the zip, freeing his erection from the boxers.

Morty missed a beat.

...

Rick was... _huge_.

Morty had already seen him naked, but never excited.

To tell the truth, he had never seen any other naked man who was not himself, or at best Jerry, or porn.

Morty swallowed, unable to take his eyes off that erection, definitely... too big. The thought excited him and frightened him at the same time.

Rick grabbed it, with a confidence and mastery that Morty didn't have. Suddenly, his mouth felt dry.

He brought his erection closer to Morty's, making them touch. The contact gave both an electric shock and Morty squeezed the arm of the chair with one hand.

The difference between their sizes was remarkable. Rick's member had a large, glistening head, tufts of blue hair around the pubis and a wide, long length. Compared to him, Morty looked like a kid.

_You are a kid._

Rick put a hand on the boy's back, making him bend over his chest and sliding the erection under him, until it was positioned in the middle of his opening. Morty began to burn up; if before he had the chills now he was dying of heat.

Morty mirrored himself in Rick's eyes, which were assailed by a desire he had never seen on him. It wasn't the expression of when he was drunk, drugged or pissed off, but something else.

"Ho-Holy shit, M-Morty...".

The voice hadn’t been so hoarse even after the worst hangover.

Morty swallowed at the idea that that voice, that look and, above all, that hard and erect cock, were stimulated by him and him alone.

Morty _aroused_ Rick.

The pride and self-esteem resulting from that sudden awareness, however, didn’t last long.

The sensation of Rick's cock rubbing between his buttocks made him close his eyes, resting his forehead against the scientist's chest.

No. It was too big. It would not... it would never...

_Hey virgin pussy, how are you going to stop him now?_

Rick leaned his face back, eyes closed, and Morty noticed his wet temples, beaded with sweat. He squeezed Morty's butt, rubbing his cock in the middle, with rough moans. His hands completely covered the boy's buttocks, moving his back to his liking, accompanying that tight with the movement of his pelvis.

Rick's penis was so long that it completely filled his rift, slipping through it with obscene and irresistible sounds. It was very hard.

Morty was exploding.

He imagined Rick's full length, completely inside him. He wanted it, he desperately wanted it. But the truth was that he was afraid. He had the terror (and the masochistic desire) of pain, but even before that, that heat made him remember a precise memory again, which had not left him alone for years.

Morty let out a whimper, going to cover his mouth with one hand.

Rick noticed the movement and with one hand went to take his wrist, freeing his mouth.

"I-I want to hear you. Let me... Let me hear you, Mo-Morty. "

_“Stop being such a fucking tease, you sweet little twat!”_

That voice.

Morty widened his eyes, moving away from Rick and looking him in the eyes, reading a desire that made him proud and frightening at the same time.

"R-Rick ... Wa-".

Rick followed him, leaning forward and kissing him again. Did people kiss so much when they were going to have sex?

Morty moaned over his mouth, closing his eyes. How could he stop him now? It was he who had gone to the garage, how could he explain what was going on? Surely Rick would have thought he didn't want it, but it wasn't like that. He understood that it was not like that at all. How could he stop him again, as he had done on the toilet planet?

Was he the one who was weird or did sex scare anyone?

_Let's say that this situation is a bit out of the ordinary._

Rick left his mouth, going to attack his neck, collarbone, shoulder, with mouth, teeth and tongue. He was unrestrained, finally free to explode and let off steam.

_You're ruining everything, you traumatized jerk._

"Rick...".

Rick climbed back onto his face, going to lick his ear, causing Morty's face to bend against his shoulder. Fuck, why was it so nice to be licked there?

Morty tensed his whole body as soon as he felt a finger come between his skin and Rick's erection. That long finger was looking for something, finding it when he felt it slip inside him. Morty arched his back, with a hoarse moan that choked his throat. His hands tightened on Rick's lab coat, still outrageously dressed.

He was inside him. The feeling was absurd, pleasant and annoying at the same time.

How did he stop him?

Rick grinned, going to kiss his cheek.

" _Go with the flow."_

_"Go with the flow."_

_"Go with the flow."_

No.

"No!".

He wasn’t ready.

Rick broke away, his finger still inside him. He raised his eyebrow, rotating it into Morty's opening. The boy barely held back a moan.

"No…?".

Rick looked down, watching Morty's erection become increasingly wet. Then he looked again at the boy, always with an arched eyebrow. It was a clear implicit question.

Morty felt guilty and terribly small at the time. Childish, almost. He looked down, swallowing.

"I d-don't... I don't feel... I'm afraid, Rick."

Morty bit his lip: it was Rick's favorite type of confession, who was just waiting to taunt him about how scared he was of anything and how afraid he was of nothing.

_Is easy to make a show of force with a brat. Maybe he's more afraid of you._

He couldn’t look him in the face. He was afraid to read a mocking grin or the disappointment in his eyes. He felt Rick breathe slowly, watching his chest swell.

Rick came over again, going close to his ear. He moved his finger inside him again, this time more gently. His voice tickled his lobe, making him shiver.

"I-I can give you pleasure, Morty ...".

It seemed like a promise, a threat and a plea at the same time. It sounded like a request for trust. Yes, a "trust me".

He wanted to let go and trust those fingers, those hands, that mouth, that voice, that body, without thinking about anything else but becoming (even) more his. Maybe there was a dimension in the multiverse at which he had succeeded, trusting him completely.

But he wasn't ready.

He just wasn't.

Morty finally looked up and hated to feel his own eyes shining again. He was looking at Rick, defeated, with no need to add anything else. There was another excuse in his gaze; one of those Rick was tired of hearing. Along with that, however, there was also a "please".

But Morty knew that he didn't have the strength to oppose Rick, even if he wanted to. Morty wasn’t someone who got to decide.

_"We don't generally decide."_

In the end, it was always Rick who chose, also for the others.

Eventually Morty would do what he wanted.

Rick looked at him harshly; a sliver of his pupil visible through his narrowed eyes. He took his finger from inside him, letting it slide out and only then Morty realize how tight his anus was holding him. If Rick was huge, he obviously had to be very tight.

Morty could still feel the man's erection rubbing against him.

He wouldn't listen to him.

Rick wouldn't listen to him. If he wanted something, he took it.

Suddenly, however, something changed in the scientist's gaze. Its hardness became a distance, like someone who remembers something and detaches himself, far away. Rick's eyes and mouth became softer, almost... _sorry_? No, surrendered, more than anything else.

Rick sighed deeply, closing his eyes and letting a hand slide on Morty's back, in what could have been a caress. He brought him closer to him again and Morty let himself be dragged, leaning on Rick's chest.

“O-okay, Morty. Let's do it your way. "

Morty opened his huge eyes wide, surprised, looking at him. He felt them sting him again and brought his arms around Rick's neck, rubbing his face against his chest.

He never loved Rick like he did in that moment.

He had listened to him.

"T-tha-"

"Shhh sh-sh-sh..." Rick silenced him immediately, his hand still moving on his back. Then he snorted, but seemed to be smiling.

"You certainly aren't making it easy for me, LIL-lil shit."

Morty blushed, feeling his erection throbbing painfully against Rick's belly. The man's erection, on the other hand, jumped vigorously against his lower back.

Morty regretted for a moment that he stopped him.

Then, again, the shadow.

Morty frowned, clutching his arms behind Rick's neck even harder.

"Is… is he really dead?".

Rick lowered his unibrow, bending his face to look at Morty.

"Who?".

"Did you... did you really k-kill him?"

Rick took Morty's chin between his fingers, causing his face to rise. He seemed to be looking for something in his eyes, before suddenly understanding. For the umpteenth time Morty wondered if Rick couldn't read his mind.

He reconnected the points, understanding what had happened and what Morty was afraid of. It seemed to be something beyond his calculations.

Rick ran a hand through Morty’s hair, brushing it away from his sweaty forehead. That too was an unusual gesture for him.

"Yes... Yes, M-Morty, he can't... He can't do anything to you anymore. He w-won't hurt you anymore."

Morty looked at him and they both seemed to think the same thing.

_Only I can._

"You... You kicked his ass, M-Morty."

Rick smirked, telling him what he hadn't been able to say to him that time on the bed after the fight at school. He was proud of him and that was the only way he could tell him. But for Morty, it was enough. The boy smiled, letting go of a short laugh that seemed to herald a cry. He managed to hold it back, swallowing with a smile.

Rick had never been like this with him.

The frightening violence and wickedness he had launched against him were so different from... whatever it was he was showing him at the time.

The caresses, the kisses, the having stopped and now that confirmation that he had been good, that he had made it himself.

It was worth more than any adventure.

Morty ran a palm over his right eye, blocking a tear before it came out and making a decision at the time.

_"I want to ma-make you feel better too, R-Rick..."._

The boy breathed slowly, before sliding back on Rick's body, touching the floor with his bare feet. On the way, their erections rubbed again, making Morty groan and Rick grunt, who clenched his fists, following the boy's movements without understanding what he was doing.

"M-Morty ...? Wha-what the fuck…?".

Morty, back on his feet, looked at Rick before looking down at his cock. It was still very hard and always seemed huge. It was absurd how much he attracted him and how much he rejected him at the same time. He didn't think he would ever be attracted to a penis... nor to Rick, on the other hand.

The moment Morty knelt on the ground, between Rick's legs, the scientist widened his eyes understanding what he was going to do and the boy felt his breath die in his throat. He held back a smile at the idea of the effect it could have on him. It still seemed absurd to him.

_It's all absurd, idiot._

Morty put his hands on Rick's thighs, moving closer to him. He felt cold, naked on the frozen floor, but his cheeks were hot and his heart was fast.

_Do you realize how dominated you are? Now also physically._

Morty brought his face close to Rick's erection, closing his eyes in shame the moment he licked his cockhead slowly.

"AH!! Fu... Shit, Morty!" Rick gasped, clenching his fists tightly and tilting his head back, looking at the ceiling. Good, if he didn't look at him, it was less embarrassing.

Timidly, Morty also licked his length, noting how small his tongue was even compared to that erection: it was difficult to lick it completely. Returning to the wet cockhead, Morty felt the taste of Rick (and of a man in general) for the first time. The experience of kissing a drunk and drugged Rick, with his green burr flowing in his throat, had been much more impactful. This new flavor was neither good nor bad, forming a very strange hybrid that would not have known how to relate to anything.

Still with his eyes closed, Morty continued to meticulously lick Rick's dickhead. He hadn't the faintest idea of how to give a blowjob: he relied only on how he wanted to get a blowjob. The idea of being incapable or, worse, annoying, stirred a strange feeling in the stomach: he was used to being useless and inept, but the fear of disappointing Rick in this context was tremendous. The performance anxiety towards the one who had fucked everything and everyone was undeniable; how could he satisfy him?

In a fit of courage, Morty finally opened his eyes, continuing to lick Rick's cockhead that stood before his face. Rick was no longer looking at the ceiling, but was staring at him, with a clenched fist in front of his mouth. His eyes were narrow and shiny, the eyes of a bird of prey who is calculating the next move. Morty saw his hand rise.

"S-sorry baby, but you asked for this."

Morty felt Rick's hand tighten his hair, just above the nape of his neck, before pushing himself with a pelvis blow completely into his mouth. Morty choked, feeling Rick's dickhead end up in his throat.

He clasped his hands against his thighs, closing his eyes and focusing only on continuing to breathe through his nose, without squeezing his mouth so as not to bite Rick. The scientist, with a joint movement, lowered Morty's head and at the same time pushed inside him, moaning and panting with a hoarse voice, choked too.

Morty moaned, in a sort of protest, but it was also a pure sexual moan.

Rick was literally fucking his mouth.

Unlike real sex, a blowjob was something Morty could feel capable of handling, despite the fear of the first time. Maybe he sinned of arrogance, but Rick's cock was pleasant to have in his mouth for some strange reason and the violence with which he pushed it inside, gave intense stimuli to his erection, which jumped desperately. Yes, Morty knew very well that he had masochistic tendencies and that, unfortunately, submission was something that excited him a lot. And Rick was the alpha par excellence, without any rival.

Rick moaned again, through clenched teeth, continuing to tighten his hair and stare at him mercilessly. Morty meowed strangled, trying to pivot on the man's thighs to convey the speed with which he entered inside him. He couldn't look him in the eye for more than two seconds counted. Rick was obscenely horny and Morty was ashamed to die. The pride in making that effect to him, however, was priceless.

Morty brought a hand to his own erection, wrapping it with one hand: it was completely wet. The boy moaned again, starting to masturbate while satisfying Rick with his mouth. His member had begun to hurt him and he absolutely had to free himself.

A few seconds later, however, Rick grunted, pulling his hair and letting his cock come out of his mouth, connected only by a streak of saliva. Morty could barely see Rick, covered by his erection, but he looked angry.

"W-what the fuck are you going to do, huh lil fucking bitch?"

Morty stopped masturbating, blushing violently for that nickname. Rick rubbed his wet erection against his cheek, causing him to turn a blind eye.

"W-what... What I have...".

"D-don't you dare touch yourself without m-my permission, Morty."

Morty frowned, putting a hand on Rick's that was squeezing his hair, starting to feel pain in the skin. He turned his face slightly, to escape the humiliating rubbing.

"W-why -".

"You-don't-have-the-right-to-touch-yourself."

Morty looked at him indignantly, opening his mouth wide.

"Yes, like that..." Rick grinned, rubbing his cockhead against his swollen and open mouth. Morty turned again.

"B-but it's not r-ri-".

“You don't even have the p _eeeeurgh_ mission to come, Morty, unless I want to. Every o-orgasm that you get, even alone in the bedroom or in the shower, I will pu-punish you by fucking you until you ask me to stop. Is that clear?".

Morty remained silent, without replying. The threat seemed sweeter than it really meant to be. The boy swallowed.

"Oh... No, don't swallow yet."

Rick took his head with both hands, inserting his entire length back into Morty's mouth, who choked again, squeezing the fabric of his pants with his nails.

He didn't even have time to think about how the hell Rick could find out where and how he masturbated. The only things he could consider was the cock that ran between his lips and the throbbing and painful one between his legs.

Piece of shit, self-centered, bastard and megalomaniac!

Morty closed his eyes, concentrating on keeping Rick's rhythms, moaning and moaning as much as Rick was panting, sighing swear words and incomprehensible phrases.

Morty still clenched his nails against his pants, mostly to refrain himself from going to get satisfaction. Regardless of all his doubts, there was only one truth: that blowjob was making Morty horny as much as he was making Rick horny. The blowjob, that ban, his words, his orders. Morty felt almost drunk, subjugated by that voice and that cock.

But if Rick played hard, then Morty had to play dirty.

The boy began to move his tongue around his length, while Rick continued to move his head back and forth. At the same time, Morty’s fingers went to caress his balls, in a gentle but firm massage.

"AH!! F-fuck, Morty, Y-you're... you're a little... a little fucking pervert...".

Rick sat up with his back, detaching himself from the back of the chair, getting closer to Morty and better controlling the movement of his head.

“You like it, don't you Morty? You-you like to suck Grandpa's c-cock, right?”.

Morty shivered, remembering how Rick had talked to himself in first-person that night in the garage too. But perhaps it was his way of speaking when he was horny, in those situations? Difficult to distinguish what those words aroused, between discomfort and pleasant embarrassment, in a scandalous mix of both.

Morty moaned in response, in a sort of unconvinced protest, hearing Rick's cockhead tickling his throat, barely coughing. It was too big, he would never get used to it ( _ah, do you already think in the long term?):_ it was impossible not to choke. How the hell did they do in porn?

His choking, however, must have been something exciting for Rick, because he felt his erection bounce violently in his mouth.

"Oh God... Y-yes... G-good, Morty... Good, baby...".

Morty felt his erection throbbing more and more painfully and almost took it back in his hand. He felt the pre-seminal fluid run down his knees, in an excitement impossible to control.

He continued to massage Rick's balls, eager for other praises, other compliments, hungry for those admissions that the man had never made him. Morty felt the cock completely in his mouth, his lips reaching the end of the length and coughing once again when Rick gave a little too strong push.

It was a real retching, which probably would have ended badly if Rick, invaded by that sound of surrender, had not finally reached orgasm. He squeezed his hair harder, in a higher but shorter groan than the others, which seemed almost his name, in a last push that filled Morty's mouth with warm and abundant sperm.

Rick gasped for a few moments, while the thrusts subsided, softening, until he stopped completely. His hands in Morty's hair stopped squeezing, letting him go in a caress. With his eyes closed, exhausted and with a strange smile on his mouth, Rick relaxed after coming.

He looked down, watching Morty's giant eyes staring at him. He stroked his cheek as he came out of him. He grinned, nodding softly to see the boy keep his mouth shut.

"Now you can swallow, M-Morty...".

As if waiting for his permission on this too, Morty swallowed, feeling that strange liquid run down his throat, just burning, but without being unpleasant. Rick had a strong taste, but yeah, it wasn't unpleasant. Not pleasant, however. He was like him practically.

"Good boy…"

Rick stroked his cheek again, while Morty took a breath.

"Now clean up."

Morty frowned, without understanding, until Rick rubbed his cockhead again against his mouth. Morty looked at him badly, but his eyes were still too liquid to be credible: he opened his mouth, freeing Rick's erection with small laps from his own cum. His moans, however, were of complaint.

Rick's low, hoarse laugh shook Morty completely, who swallowed again before speaking.

"S-sorry...".

Rick arched his unibrow. What the fuck was he still apologizing for?

Morty looked down, mortified, leaving Rick's thighs and going to clench his fists against his legs. Rick leaned over, realizing what had happened.

Morty had come with him, freeing himself in an orgasm in splashing on the floor, and also on his pants.

The scientist looked at him, a little surprised. He hadn't even touched himself, nor had he been able to rub himself anywhere. Morty bit his lips, embarrassed and fearful.

That feeling of being filled, his name pronounced that way, those compliments, the awareness of having satisfied Rick for once in his life, had jumped Morty's erection one last time, freeing him in an orgasm that he could not hold back.

The idea of making Rick come was one of the most exciting things he could think of.

The perpetually dissatisfied, critical, arrogant and demanding man on Earth had been completely satisfied by his mouth.

If he was to risk punishment, that was the best way.

Morty looked at him, almost waiting, with his eyes still wide open from the very strong emotions he had just felt. Rick looked at him too, without grinning anymore. He seemed to look at him as he was doing before, when he said that he was beautiful. Even now he seemed to look at him like that, in a hint of a smile. He took Morty under his arms, lifting him and bringing him back to him, over the chair. Morty seemed to be careful not to get Rick dirty with his own seed, but Rick didn't even notice. He was only looking at him.

He kissed him again, without saying anything.

He kissed him for a long time, a silent kiss that seemed to hide a secret.

After a few minutes, Rick broke away from Morty, lying back on the back of the chair and carrying the boy better on himself.

Again, he stroked his back with his fingertips, slowly.

Morty crouched on his shoulder, bringing his arms around his neck again, shivering with every single touch. After all those emotions and that effort on his knees on the floor, he felt shivering, with goosebumps rising on his skin.

Rick hugged him, carrying the edges of his lab coat to cover him, wrapping Morty in a squeeze that contained him completely.

They remained silent for a long time, but Morty could not quantify how much: it could have been a minute, or an hour.

Rick sighed deeply before speaking again. Morty regretted not being able to see his face, leaning as it was in the hollow of his neck.

"Don’t leave".

Morty was amazed by that phrase. More than as a request, it always sounded like an order. But it had something different inside. Did it seem... a request within an order? What surprised him, however, was the nature of the implicit question: had he discovered that he had gone to Creepy Morty? No, it wasn’t possible... He would have killed him.

Perhaps he was only referring to that dialogue in the hospital, when they had touched their hands.

Rick had launched the provocation, or given permission, or an exhortation to leave, to disappear forever in any dimension, without ever returning.

Morty hadn't done it, nor had he really thought about doing it.

It had to be what Rick was referring to. And saying it must have cost him a lot. Morty could feel it from the growing tension in the body below him.

Morty swallowed, his mouth still mixed with his flavor.

"Y-you're the one who was go-going to kill yourself."

It was not a programmed sentence. It was like that, without thinking about it.

Rick frowned and Morty felt him turn slightly towards him. It shouldn't have been okay for him not to be able to face him.

Morty thought back to when he had followed him to that wonderful planet, finding him in the midst of millions of blades of grass, with a gun pointed at him. Morty had jumped on Rick, stopping him and rolling with him on the ground. At that moment, he had felt himself dying, in a frightening chasm of emptiness a thousand times deeper than when Rick had disappeared for those two days, returning drunk and landing in the garden.

A life without Rick… He was still not able to imagine it. Perhaps he never could.

Rick didn't reply.

Neither of them had reassured each other, but already confiding their own fear (if Rick had called it like that) was already something extremely complicated for them.

Maybe that was enough for that night.

They didn’t say a single word anymore, with Rick continuing to stroke Morty's bare back for hours, until he fell asleep in his arms.

When Morty opened his eyes, it was morning and he was in his bed, with his pajamas on.

Rick's smell was everywhere.

 

 

 

Thanks to <https://twitter.com/Hajime_Hinata01> <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you know me more than know  
> And you see me more than see  
> I could die now more than die  
> Every time you look at me  
> When it's right it's more than right  
> Those you feel it more than feel
> 
> The Script - Never seen anything quite like you


	13. Insects

It had been a long time since he'd gone down there.

The last time was to split a man's mouth in half with a scalpel. Usually, the reason he went down to the labs was always him. This time it was no different from the others.

The President walked down corridors, without paying the slightest attention to the rooms around him, which were teeming with Ricks finally at work in their natural field. Science. Of course, there were those who complained that they were on the same level as biologists and neurosurgeons, but perhaps they were the least frustrated Ricks of the Citadel, more involved in a role that could have competed and lived up to their abilities.

Dozens of heads with light blue hair in their lab coats were assisted by their respective Mortys, who kept on passing wrong objects and wrong doses of substances whose name they didn't even know. Ricks’ angry voices made a strange contrast to Mortys’ high-pitched and terrified ones.

To his ears, both sounded like a terrible mistake. A mistake to fix.

The President arrived at the end of the corridor, in front of a simple, white door with no handle. He had his hands behind his back and a total expressionlessness that dominated his face.

Finding a way to lock the door and make it accessible only to him had risked getting complicated when he had the room built. What to choose as an access mechanism? Fingerprints? Voices? Iris? What was the value of an individual's differences and uniqueness when infinite other perfectly identical alternatives existed?

No one. That was always the answer. No value.

But there was someone who was more unique than others.

The President leaned forward slightly, staring at the door.

"Control".

A blue light came on, immediately scanning his right eye. In the iris, a specular blue light was read in response. A few seconds, before a short sound, accompanied by an automated female voice: "Good morning, Mr President".

The door opened the next instant, letting the boy in the black shirt pass.

There was someone who was more unique than others because he had decided to be one.

Evil Morty found himself in total darkness when the door closed behind him. He wasn't bad in the dark, quite the opposite. Perhaps that was the only place where he really felt like himself, hidden as he had been hidden for so long. From his office he had a look at the Citadel from above, he had more power there than both Ricks’ Councils ever had.

The lights came on, dimmed, illuminating a giant screen positioned beneath what appeared to be a control room. In the center, a single small chair.

Evil Morty approached the moment the screen turned on, revealing what looked like a wall on the monitor. Near it were gun guards of the Citadel.

The boy sat down on the chair, composing, pressing buttons and keeping his gaze fixed on the screen. A small steel door opened, bringing out a cable that went to position itself in front of Evil Morty's face, in front of the same eye that had served to open the door. With a dry movement, the cable and its round end attached to his skin, perfectly covering the orbit of the right eye,  the backlash forcing his face back slightly .

Evil Morty opened his mouth and a groan that could be interpreted as pleasure and pain together came out of his lips.

Looking ahead at the screen, he pressed another button before turning to the left. What was on the screen veered in the same direction at the same time, revealing that it was someone's perspective.

On the monitor, other Ricks were now framed, along with Mortys. They weren't Citadel guards, though. They were chained to the wall, completely stained with blood. Many of them looked on the ground, unconscious. Others, however, looked directly at the target. There were those who were terrified, some furious, some desperate. A Morty specifically looked at him with gritted teeth and a canine that was missing.

Evil Morty folded the line of ever-expressionless lips into a strange grin. The sadism contained in that expression was known only to those who had seen him as the last thing before dying.

Evil Rick had his hands behind his back and a sadistic grin on his face as he turned to the left. That image of the Rick chained to the wall was something incredibly erotic for those who had two qualities in particular combined: passion for torture and manic self-centeredness. It was his case. It was their case. It was the case with every single Rick in the universe.

Evil Rick approached the prisoners chained against the wall. They were a pitiful sight and it was a miracle that some of them still breathed. There was someone who had been immobile for a while too long, in fact.

The man with the scar pointed precisely at the Morty who had a slightly cheeky expression. The boy looked at him through clenched teeth and his gaze was even more inflamed than that of the two Ricks next to him.

Evil Rick leaned in front of the boy, with the scar that, combined with the grin, deformed his mouth. His eyes were furrowed by deep dark circles that made his gaze almost liquid, like someone who had snorted something too much. They were dangerous eyes on a dangerous man who was having fun at the time.

"Every time I see a Morty angry with me, my heart breaks...".

Evil Rick chuckled in a low voice, a hoarse and annoying laugh. The Morty in front of him waved his chained hands, to no avail. The man with the scar raised his hands, as if to declare himself innocent.

“You have to admit, however, that you are particularly touchy. Am I wrong? ".

Evil Rick winked at the prisoner next door: a Rick exactly like him, but with his cheek totally burnt by what looked like dozens of cigarette burns. The man looked at him, without giving him the slightest satisfaction.

"Oh, come on. If we had known that you would have been so tight we would have really thought about cutting your tongue ... ".

"You did it," the Morty turned to the right, looking at one of the Mortys dangling from the bolts, senseless. Then, he returned to the man in front of him: "He s-suffocated o-on his own blood".

Evil Rick stroked his scar with his fingertip, dedicating a fleeting glance to the immobile boy: "Ah, did he? Well, he didn't want to tell us anything. We got a little pissed off, didn't we? "

“C-cut your cock off and stick it in your mouth. You won't even notice it, unlike him. " One of the Ricks next to the Morty spoke, with the saliva mixed with blood dripping from his lips.

"Actually, I don't understand all this anger ..." Evil Rick sighed, rubbing his forehead with one hand "We just asked you a simple question ...".

In a flash, the Morty in front of Rick was yanked forward as the man grabbed his jaw ,  squeezing it tightly until the boy's cheeks tightened like a vice, preventing him from voicing any complaint he might have .

"Where the fuck is your fucking nest?"

All those present remained motionless, while the guards on the other side arranged their rifles better, loading them.

Evil Rick also pulled a gun from his pocket, pointing it under the boy's chin, whose furious expression faltered, leaving room for fear. His eyes became bright and a whimper choked off in his throat.

Evil Rick shook his head, lowering his voice that had an extremely different inflection. It almost sounded like someone else's: "This bullshit doesn't work with me, I'm not one of your fucking grandpas and if you don't tell me the position of the base..." the man pressed the viewfinder against his throat, with force "... you will envy the jerk who choked on his tongue. "

The Morty remained silent, shifting his gaze from the gun barrel to the man's face, before shaking his head: "N ... N-no ... Not ...".

"Wait".

Evil Rick turned to one of his alternatives, the one to the right of the Morty. He raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for an answer from that Rick, without lowering the gun. His copy looked at him, clenching his teeth with what seemed almost a surrender.

"... The... The headquarter is ...".

His scar-cracked mouth tensed as the Morty moaned something like a no, still squeezed by Evil Rick's hand. Every single present, from prisoners to guards, was awaiting confession.

"... in my ass."

Rick lowered his head, as if devastated by the revelation. He nodded gravely, as guilty of the confession committed.

"Yes ... In my ass."

The silence was total and remained untouchable for more than a few seconds, until the crystalline and hysterical laughter, typical of Morty, exploded breaking the absence of sound. Still locked in the grip of Evil Rick's hand, the Morty began to laugh hysterically, with that high-pitched voice, so high that it penetrated the brain, annoying and unbearable, until...

The boy's brain exploded against the wall and the laughter stopped.

Evil Rick had a disturbing and unnatural absence of emotions on his face, dirty with blood and flesh, as he turned, leaving what remained of the boy's face. As he removed a piece of him splattered on his face, he nodded to the guards, who lowered their rifles.

Blows sanctioned an execution that Evil Rick and Evil Morty didn’t see, moving away from there.

_ You are not like the others. _

He had lost count of how many had told him. The Mortys told him with a strange light in their eyes, full of admiration, of hope. The Ricks spit on him like an insult, disgusted and determined to put a barrier between him and them.

Perhaps he reminded them of their humanity: the inability to have it and the fear of obtaining it. The Ricks were not afraid of anything and were capable of doing anything. It was clear that they kept him at a safe distance, therefore.

The Mortys avoided him for a different reason: he was a Rick. That was enough to stay away from him.

The lifeless Morty in front of him didn't look at him with fear or contempt, he couldn't. He was yet another that he found dead in the alleys of the Citadel. Mortytown in particular was teeming with murders; if Mortys were in general danger, they were more in a place where they were as dangerous and sometimes more dangerous than Rick.

He wasn't upset, it wasn't the first time he saw one. His ex-partner had killed Mortys in front of him, without him being able to do anything except kill in turn. He had decided to work alone not to remember his failure, managing to win over the oppositions of the police station. Or alone, or nothing.

"Agent M-2306, up-updates?".

Cop Rick got up from the ground, taking the transceiver from which the croaking voice of what looked like a Morty had come out. He clicked a button before replying, “Another Morty. Weapon. He doesn't seem to be part of the Locos or other bands. "

“He's the f-fifteenth ye-yellow shirt that you’ve found this week. Do we have to believe that you k-kill them?”.

Cop Rick sighed, before hitting the lifeless boy with a beam that made him disappear from the dirty and worn floor.

"I'm simply the only one who deigns to patrol Mortytown."

“Then you asked for it. W-we received the Mo-Morty at the morgue. O-over and out, M-2306 ".

The transceiver stopped croaking, turning off. Cop Rick replaced it, continuing to look where the lifeless boy was before. He stood still for a while, before looking up, hearing music in the distance.

It was disco music, languid.

He hadn’t gone back to Creepy Morty since it happened. He had avoided this place with obsessive attention, despite having toured all around Mortytown for weeks, months. He had lost count.

It had been out of pure selfishness that he never returned.

He knew perfectly well that Creepy was at the center of the whole Mortytown mafia and beyond. Miami Rick's business was also doing well there, and his influence was getting stronger than ever.

He wasn't a good cop to avoid that place for his own investigations.

But he wasn't a good cop. He had proved it.

He had failed.

Cop Rick looked around, observing that place as he had done the first and only time he had been. Even back then he couldn't help being upset by the nature of the place, just as the Mortys present looked at him upset now.

They were their grandsons. And Ricks had reduced them like that. Making them their ...

The policeman swallowed, holding back a retching that was going to burn his throat.

Slowly the memories came back into his mind, overbearing. He recognized the table where they were sitting. The exact spot on the floor where he had been shot. And then that pole where he had seen for the first time ...

"We only serve plainclothes policemen."

Cop Rick turned, looking at a Morty behind him. He had an earring and a much more adult look than his age. The man held his breath. Was he always him? That Morty he had seen dancing on the pole dressed as a gunslinger?

The policeman found himself displaced for a second. By now he had become unaccustomed to talking to people, limiting himself to the reports of patrols made to his superiors. His mouth felt dry when he replied.

"Oh ... No, I'm not here for that. It's just a patrol. "

The boy laughed, rolling his eyes and placing a hand on his hip.

"Hey, there is no need to tell me lies... If you haven't been able to change in time but you want to, I can try to let you in from the back".

The dancer winked at him, nodding towards the corridor leading to the private rooms.

"But only if you promise to arrest me, officer..." Morty's voice grew silky and low, as far as possible.

Cop Rick was blown away. What was that kid doing? Was he flirting with him? The man watched him approach, with that disarming smile he had never seen on any Morty. Or, in any case, not addressed to him.

"N-no...".

Cop Rick took a step backwards, while the dancer approached, swaying more than necessary. The moment he reached out to him, the policeman took him by the wrist, slowly, blocking him.

“I am not here for this. I'm not…".

The policeman was silent for a second before continuing.

"... I'm not one of those Rick."

The lewd smile of the boy disappeared from his face, leaving room for something different, similar to confusion. He had caught him off guard.

The two stayed like that for a moment, before the dancer retracted his hand.

"So what are you doing here? You risk getting into trouble ... and you will get it through to us. "

The Morty looked at him with a strange hardness in his gaze, completely different from what it was a moment ago. Even the policeman tried to compose himself, clearing his throat. The Mortys around them began to whisper and those occupied with Ricks took them quickly to their private rooms, for fear that they would run away sniffing out trouble.

Cop Rick looked around nervously before returning to the boy in front of him. He was familiar, as every other Morty was familiar, but more than usual. What if he was really the Morty he had seen on the pole that time?

But why, what difference did it make? Why was he thinking about it so much?

"I came to see if everything is okay around here."

The dancer raised an appalled eyebrow.

“To see if you needed anything. There have been many murders lately. I wanted to know if you had noticed something strange and if everything was going well. "

The dancer had an amused snort, just shaking his head in irritation: "We are a juvenile strip club, in a squalid suburb of a Citadel from which we cannot escape, under the thumb of over 70-year-old drug addicts, violent and maniacs".

Cop Rick felt a grip on his stomach as those words nurtured the guilt he had been carrying for a lifetime.

"Of course it's all right."

The two remained silent for a while longer, before someone cleared his throat, attracting their attention. He was the bartender, a Morty with an absent and selfless gaze.

"Everything good?".

The dancer laughed, spreading his arms: "What the fuck is wrong with you tonight?  You're usually one-track minded."

Cop Rick sighed, disappointed with yet another failed attempt to communicate with a Morty.

"I'm Agent M-2306. If you have any problems, you can contact me directly at the Central ”.

The dancer looked at him again for a very long moment. The anger in his eyes diluted into something strange; it was a sort of apprehension, similar to a desperate plea for help enclosed in those giant eyes. Or at least, so the policeman understood it. It was not the first time that he had interpreted the look of a Morty like this and the last time it had almost cost him his life.

That look really seemed to him, though. It looked like the gaze of someone who wavered, in doubt of trusting or not. Cop Rick would have spoken again, insisting, if that look hadn't turned cold and distant again when the bartender coughed, both awakening from their thoughts.

"We will not fail."

With those last words, the boy turned, returning to the bar counter.

"Oh, and anyway ..." the dancer turned again, continuing to walk backwards towards the bar: "We always died like flies... but you never noticed".

The dancer disappeared behind the counter before the policeman sighed, responding more to himself than to him.

"I always did".

The policeman sighed one last time, heading out of the room while the transceiver was croaking again. The dancer looked at him until he disappeared beyond the door, even though he couldn't have known.

He hadn't slept so well in years.

Or rather, Rick Sanchez didn't sleep more than two hours in a row if he wasn't done or drunk, so having slept four hours that night was an extraordinary record.

He hadn't drunk the night before, smoked, or altered his psychophysical state except for ... Morty.

Rick still could feel his body relaxed, full of endorphins flowing through his veins. He had been horny all night, of course, that was obvious. There was no way that Rick could be satisfied with a single orgasm. By the time they were finished, he had been ready to start again, returning hard after a while. But he hadn't shown it to Morty, nor had he asked him for anything.

Rick smiled incredulously, just shaking his head on his bed, where he was laying staring at the ceiling like Morty had done the night before, before crossing the portal.

He hadn't cared so much about wanting more. Of course, if Morty had provoked him in the least, making him understand that he still wanted, he would have jumped on him, fucking him in every possible way and position. But it  was good like this too . With that light body on him, who had fallen asleep on top of him, naked and tired, before he brought him back to his room, dressing him. Putting on his pajamas had been the strangest thing done in recent months, paradoxically: he had felt a maniac. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Leave him naked, under the covers?

At the mere thought, he felt an annoying push to his lower abdomen.

Rick sighed deeply, irritated at the thought that Morty was in school at the time. He hadn't seen him at breakfast, he hadn't woken up in time and the boy, surely dead of sleep, had left immediately without even eating, again late. Or maybe it had been intentional, he didn't know.

But he could have no more doubts. He had opened that portal in Morty's room just to stop having them and let him choose. And shit, Morty had fully shown him how he felt.

He had been afraid, but it was normal. Morty was afraid of anything, so why not sex? It was not something Rick couldn’t understand ... and he had decided to respect it.

_ Yeah. What a charitable man you are. _

There was no doubt that could stand in front of...

_ Come on, say it. _

Rick closed his eyes, feeling the painful erection pressing against his pants.

The scientist tilted his head back on the bed, lowering his hand to free his throbbing member.

There was no doubt that could stand in front of those lips.

Rick took the cock in his hand, freeing it from the boxers and starting to go up and down with his fingers closed.

In front of that mouth.

Rick moaned, still with his eyes closed, letting go of panting as he continued to masturbate.

In front of the fact that Morty had knelt at his feet of his own free will.

Rick opened his eyes, looking down, frustrated that Morty was not there to take care of his need. Stupid fucking school.

Rick's hand went faster and faster, stroking the whole shaft, while the cockhead began to get wet, facilitating the sliding of his fingers on the tight and hard skin.

Rick's eyes rolled back into his skull at the image of Morty, kneeling on the ground and naked in front of him, swallowing in response to his order. He reached orgasm sooner than he thought, splattering his blue shirt with his own semen.

With his hand dirty and still on his cock, the scientist continued to pant, more and more slowly, catching his breath.

The moment of down immediately after orgasm didn’t hesitate to arrive, making his stomach tangle. Again his tireless brain went rummaging through his memories, finding the discordant note of that evening.

_ "Y-you're the one who was going to kill himself." _

A long whistle hit Rick's ears, annoying and irritating. The scientist frowned, returning his hand to the mattress and drying it on the sheets.

What if Morty did it for that?

_ Really, you still have doubts? _

Rick sat up on his bed with his back, as if by sudden illumination.

What if Morty was indulging him for fear that he would kill himself? Or that he would go away?

_ Or maybe simply because he's afraid of you. Maybe because you won. _

_ What would you like it to be, if not this? _

Rick was silent, seeing the night before him with a different perspective.

The need for alcohol returned suddenly, after hours of not feeling it.

The absence of noises in the room was broken by a sort of strange, annoying and insistent beep. He almost remembered a high-pitched and very familiar voice. Rick got out of bed, raising his eyebrow as he went to rummage in the compartments of a chest of drawers. Work tools, empty spirits bottles, a Meesek's box, alien souvenirs of any kind and, finally, the source of the noise: it was a sort of small Ipad, which did not stop messing around. On the monitor, an interactive interface represented by a digital reproduction of Morty, who raised his arms to attract Rick's attention. Next to him, a quick summary of what appeared to be vital functions: fast heartbeat, fast breathing, increased blood pressure.

Rick frowned, pressing a finger on the analysis and deepening it, trying to understand what was going on. It was not uncommon for Morty to have similar reactions, they were almost more times in which he entered tachycardia and hyperventilation than normal ones, but generally it happened during adventures. Now he was in school.

What the fuck was he up to? Did the bullies return to the attack? Or had Jessica greeted him? The thought made his nose turn up.

Rick checked his blood pressure, going to locate the exact spot where the blood had gone to concentrate.

Rick opened his mouth in surprise.

Oh.

Without knowing it, they had found themselves doing the same thing again.

It was not the first time, nor the first person to have had such a thing.

Who had never happened to suddenly have an erection at school, hidden under the desk and begging to be satisfied?

Nothing extraordinary.

If it hadn't been for two main reasons.

Morty Smith was horny with Rick Sanchez and the night just passed. Rick Sanchez was his grandfather and the night just passed had been the full and total realization of the physical (and mental) attraction that both had for each other.

Morty had deliberately and with full acceptance (and pleasure) given his first blowjob ever, and to Rick.

Thinking about the man's cock that ran down his throat, his orders and the orgasm that had been released in his mouth, had forced him to ask Mr Goldenfold for permission to go to the bathroom.

And here is the second reason.

What better place to get rid of that annoying problem at school, if not the bathroom? Closed, private and generally uncrowded.

Too bad that Morty Smith, besides being (evidently) a pervert, was also a fucking traumatized who could not even close the door to piss. He had NEVER gone to a public toilet alone after Mr Jellybean. Imagine after having been beaten by Tony the last time.

For this reason he was now there, in the computer room and with an erection in the air, trying to understand what to do.

Oh yes, because there was actually a third problematic reason.

_ Every o-orgasm that you get, even alone in the bedroom or in the shower, I will pu-punish you by fucking you until you ask me to stop. _

Rick had ordered him strictly not to get orgasms on his own.

It had been an obligation that allowed no replies, but unfortunately it was also one of the reasons why Morty was obscenely horny. He was like a dog biting its tail.

If it weren't for this, he would have been satisfied already, returning to class much more relaxed and with red cheeks. But it was already ten minutes that he was there in that empty classroom, with strong tachycardia for fear that someone would enter and without being able to bring that masturbation to fruition.

He stopped and started over and over again, with the fear that stopped him from coming. What led him to resume masturbating, however, was the morbid and dangerous curiosity to know what would be the punishment with which Rick would punish him.

Yes, he was definitely like a dog biting its tail.

He knew what Rick could become if irritated and if someone disobeyed him, but not in sex. It was difficult to say what he would have preferred, whether to find out or not.

That bastard had not only forbidden him to come, but also to touch himself.

But how the fuck could Rick have known? What was his way of knowing if he was masturbating?

That question made him shiver down his spine. Rick knew everything. Morty moaned in frustration, covering his face with his hands, without knowing what to do and with the erection that was starting to hurt him.

As if he had summoned him, Morty heard the sound of a portal materializing behind him.

"I thought I was clear...".

The boy snapped his hands down, feeling himself flaring at the sound of Rick's voice behind him.

"R-Rick ..." Morty brought his hands to his erection, covering himself again with the boxers and fumbling with the zip, in an attempt to hide that evidence: "I’m n-not ... I wasn't...".

Just as the boy began to wonder why the fuck he was justifying himself, Rick's hands came to take his wrists, blocking them. Morty was still unbuttoned and felt Rick's chest warm against his back.

"You never learn to do what I say, huh M-Morty...?".

Morty blushed even more violently, before turning to the scientist, freeing his wrists from his grasp.

"Y-you don't have ... you can't-do such a thing, Rick. Y-you can't forbid me ... Y-you have no right--".

"Uh, no?" Rick raised an eyebrow. He was not angry, nor threatening, but neither was he amused. Morty backed up against a counter, swallowing to see that the more he walked away, the closer Rick got.

“I have full rights over you, Morty. If it weren't for m _ eeeurgh _ , you wouldn't even have been born. "

Morty was having a hard time holding his grandfather's gaze, feeling his erection jump painfully against the boxer cloth. Stupid masochistic and submissive jerk.

"O-oh, n-now do I have to t-thank you for that too, Rick?"

Rick smiled, before placing his hands on either side of Morty's body on the counter.

"At least".

Morty was on fire and Rick was closer than ever. The boy looked down, unable to support the other's metal gaze.

"Maybe if you tell me what got you so horny ..." Rick approached Morty's ear, whispering softly "... I could even give you a hand...".

Yes, a hand. Of course. Rick Sanchez was a champion of generosity.

A little desire for revenge made its way into Morty, but he decided to give Rick the chance to be honest, for once.

"H-how did you know?"

Rick laughed softly, tickling his ear and making his face bend against his shoulder.

"A scientist never reveals his secrets...".

Oh yes? Well. The time had come to fight back. Morty looked at him, noticing how close their mouths were, tempted to abandon revenge for a moment. Just as Rick approached to kiss him, the boy spoke.

"Je-Jessica b-bent down to pick up a p-pen and her s-skirt rode up ...".

A moment of silence filled the room and before Morty could smile at his audacity, he found himself with a lump in his throat and chills on the skin.

Rick's gaze was fixed on him and made him understand immediately that he had made the wrong move.

If before Rick was neither angry nor threatening, he was now.

Morty swallowed, feeling his mouth dry.

Inexplicably, Rick suddenly pursed his lips in a hinted smile.

"Oh…"

The scientist leaned over Morty, who arched his back against the bench, almost touching the surface.

"So I should believe..."

Rick stuck one leg in the middle of Morty's, rubbing his knee against the boy's erection, strong. A strangled groan escaped Morty.

"... that this is still here for that reason."

Morty looked down, biting his lips so as not to pant.

"And that it was the same thing last night."

_ Last night. _

A flash of Rick's cock hard from his lips hit him. Morty could feel the cloth of his boxers getting wet.

"You think you can f-fuck me, Morty?"

Rick lowered his face back to him, while the boy found it increasingly difficult to hold back moans of pleasure.

"Don't you think the opposite is m-much more likely to happen, instead?"

With a sudden jerk, Rick grabbed Morty by the hips, slamming him on the table, just as it had happened a few hours earlier. The grandson grabbed his coat, squeezing it between his fingers and looking at the door with fear and nervousness, while Rick lowered his zip again, taking off his pants.

"R-Rick ... Rick, n-no, s-someone could c-come in".

Rick put a hand in his coat pocket, pulling out a small metal pebble roughly the size of a ladybug. Just like an insect, the device flew to the door, hooking onto the lock and making a loud beep.

"Room-isolated-acoustically. Lock-blocked ".

The scientist also yanked the boy's boxers away, again revealing his erection, obscenely wet and improbably hard. Morty covered his face with his hands again, while Rick threw his clothes in one side of the room.

The man pounced on the boy's neck, biting hard and ripping out a sharp scream at Morty, while he took the erection in one hand. Morty put a hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing it tightly to that contact that finally gave vent to that search for pleasure that had lasted all morning.

"You always...  _ always _ piss me off."

Morty tried to reply, panting, but was blocked by two fingers of Rick who entered his mouth, sliding on his tongue.

“Suck, M-Morty. You showed me that you can do it v-very w _ eeeeurgh _ , very well. At least you can do that ”.

The boy moaned indignantly, but closed his mouth on his fingers, moistening them without opposition, but frightened by why Rick was asking him.

The man pulled his fingers out of his mouth, continuing to jerk him off mercilessly, pumping his hand on his cock at a perfect pace. Suddenly, Rick lifted Morty's leg, carrying it over his shoulder, the one opposite where Morty was holding him.

Morty blushed (if possible) even more, feeling his ass completely exposed as never happened to him with Rick. What did he want to do?

Rick went to massage Morty's opening, bathing it with the boy's saliva still on his index finger.

"N-no ... R-Rick w-wai--".

The man dipped his finger inside him, repeating again what had happened a few hours earlier. Morty threw his head back, moaning loudly and biting his lips. Again, that mixture of pleasure and pain in which it was impossible to decide which one to taste first.

Morty dared not look at Rick, instead looking down on the man's hand and the long finger that disappeared inside him, repeating the action with the same rhythm with which he was masturbating him.

Morty wouldn't last long. He had been waiting too long.

He squeezed Rick's shoulder even more, going to bite a hand when the man inserted his middle finger without too many compliments into his very narrow opening. He felt his eyes sting, become moist, while the two different sensations that moved him inside reached very high levels.

"R-Rick ... Rick! Ah! " Morty continued to moan, no longer holding his voice. Maybe he couldn't have done it even if the room hadn't been soundproofed.

“You can't come, Morty. I told you." Rick licked his cheek, continuing to move his hands on him and inside him mercilessly:" Do you want to piss me off again? ".

Well, if that was the result, it was worth it.

Just as this thought was formulating in Morty's mind and the boy approached orgasm, Rick stopped stroking Morty’s cock, just continuing to enter and exit him with two fingers. Morty moaned in annoyance, looking down again before looking at Rick. Unfortunately he knew well that the man in his own eyes could only read an indecent plea.

"R-Rick, please ...".

The scientist shook his head, snapping his tongue in denial. Morty bit the inside of his cheek, frustrated by the pinnacle of pleasure that had disappeared suddenly and was missing beyond words. He missed that hand beyond words.

He knew what Rick wanted. What he always wanted.

He wanted reason. Power. Affirmation.

And Morty was not capable of not giving it to him.

Not at that moment. Not with that desire. Not after that night.

The boy narrowed his eyes, moaning, before shouting: "I-it was for you !! It was for you! "

Rick grinned, twisting his fingers inside him, ruthless.

"What was it for me, M-Morty...?".

Morty clenched a fist, letting go of his shoulder and resting both elbows on the bench. He pushed himself against his fingers, in need of everything he could give him.

"My ... M-my erection, I-I ... I was thi-thinking about you, Rick, but p-plea--."

Rick brought a third finger to the entrance to Morty's opening, starting to push and forcing the boy to bring his clenched fist back to his mouth, with a soft moan.

"And what do we say, M-Morty ...?".

Morty opened his eyes, hating him and loving him at the same time for what he was doing to him. Rick was having a great time punishing him and he had a double reason for doing so. He was teaching him never to challenge him.

"S-sorry, Rick ... S-sorry, b-but please...".

Morty also hated himself at that moment, but his vision blurred by the pleasure and desire to come was stronger than even that little dignity remained. He wanted to come. And he wanted to come by his hand.

"P-please, Rick, let me come."

Morty sobbed desperately, while Rick deepened his smile, returning with his hand on his cock, completely wet from his moods.

"Good boy...".

The moment Rick started to jack him again, slipping a third finger inside him and kissing him, Morty reached an orgasm at an incredible speed, exploding in a groan and splashing on himself, getting his yellow and sweaty shirt dirty.

It was the biggest orgasm he had ever experienced. He was the first he received from someone else and was not in the least comparable to those he had procured himself. There was absolutely no comparison.

Morty let go of his back on the bench, while he slowly recovered, panting shamelessly and accompanying Rick's fingers that came out of him with one last moan.

With his chest going up and down, Morty couldn't look at Rick again, but he could feel his gaze and smile on him.

The boy jumped at the very loud and annoying trill of a bell, the one present in the classroom, which announced recess. Morty sat up on his back as Rick snapped his fingers, causing the soundproofing device to fly back into his hand.

"I'll leave you to your lessons, Morty ...".

Rick grinned, looking first at Morty, half naked and dirty on the counter, and then at his clothes scattered around the room.

"... I suggest you hurry up, though."

The scientist turned his back on him, opening the door with the portal-gun and disappearing into it in an instant.

Morty remained hidden throughout the recreation, trying to dry the wet shirt in every way. The thought that Rick had become jealous accompanied him all the time.

The return home had been full of thoughts. Maybe that was why it had taken him at least a quarter of an hour longer than usual. He walked slowly, his gaze lost in space, recapitulating in his mind the things that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

Thinking that Rick was at home waiting for him made him electric and his legs were softer than ever. But he wasn't the only one he would meet once he arrived.

Summer.

The sense of guilt towards her was stronger than the one he had towards himself. Yes, because his sister's words brought him back to a level of reality, making him look at the sick relationship he had with the scientist from another perspective.

"Just think about how much of what you do, you do it for yourself or for someone else." 

If Rick represented knowledge, then Summer was consciousness. As much as Morty didn't want to think about it, he couldn’t consider only that last day, since their return with the spacecraft.

If they had made that journey into space it was because Rick had got drunk and drugged to death and was about to ...

Morty couldn't even think that word. What made Rick so different from Jellybean?

_ Many things… _

How could he forgive him about everything, always ending up being more and more tied to him?

_ Yeah, how? Why? _

_ Are you sure you don't know? _

Morty sighed deeply, before finally looking up from the street and realizing that he had passed home. He went back, walking down the driveway and hearing the voices of Rick and Jerry pattering over the door.

"I don't understand what the hell it takes you to fix the car instead of having to send me to the mechanic!"

“Oh, Jerry, do you need my help now? I wanted to give your day a purpose. "

"Oh, why, what purpose would your day have? No, because so far I haven’t seen any brilliant contributions made to humanity. "

A classic.

Morty sighed before opening the door and finding the two householders facing each other at the entrance. Both turned to him, but their expressions were totally different.

Rick looked at him from top to bottom, as if he saw him for the first time, and then stopped at a specific point in his yellow shirt. Yes, the sperm stain was still visible. And Jerry was ... Jerry.

Morty refrained with all his might from blushing from that invasive look, focusing his eyes on his father.

"Hey, dad, w-what's going on? Is the car b-broken? ”.

Jerry glared at Rick, before replying: "There is a problem with the steering, which COULD be solved in a moment, but evidently someone has better things to do."

Jerry walked past the two, grabbing the keys hanging near the door and going out like a fury, slamming it behind him.

Morty didn’t have time to turn around and Rick was immediately on him, kissing him and squeezing him with a voracity that almost alarmed Morty, taken aback.

The boy put his hands on his chest, without pushing him away, while Rick's hands went up to tighten his hair to better guide him in the kiss. There was an absolute need in those gestures, like those who haven't been breathing for hours, like those who haven't eaten in years. When the man broke away, the boy took his breath.

No, he would never get used to the effect he had on him. It was not even plausible that he could attract him like this ... Him, Rick. The Rickest Rick.

There were millions, billions of questions he wanted to ask him. About him, about his life, about them. But Rick hated questions, just because he had all the answers.

"S-since when did it start ...?".

Rick had a liquid, almost hypnotized look, without being able to stop kissing him, on the mouth, on the cheeks, on the neck, putting his hands everywhere.

"I-I don't know ... Fuck, I don't remember how long I want you ... B-but shut up, Morty, shut up ...".

Morty felt his lower belly twisting, while Rick slipped both hands under his pants, grabbing both of his buttocks with force.

Again, Summer's voice came back.

_ Morty, you only know the truth ... _

Another question came to him suddenly and he pronounced it without even realizing it. It bothered him even to have thought of it in the innermost parts of his mind.

"I-it’s only with me?"

Rick broke away, looking at him questioningly, with a frown.

"Or ... Or also w-with ... M-mom or S-Summer ...".

Rick's eyes widened in amazement before he became upset and then disgusted, all within a moment.

"No. No, fuck, no, Morty. "

The boy looked at him, with a sigh that came out of his throat, trembling. He needed that confirmation, and a thousand others.

"Only you".

Rick looked at his mouth before lowering himself to his lips again, uttering that phrase again before kissing him.

"Only you".

The two kissed again, while Morty put his hands behind Rick's neck.

Maybe he knew the reason why he always managed to forgive him and was more and more tied to him, for years, after all.

Morty was ...

The door swung open, making them turn, but not giving them time to detach themselves from each other.

"I forgot the keys."

Jerry stood motionless on the door, still with the handle in his hand. The three looked at each other and Jerry stared at them, moving his gaze now from Morty's hands to Rick's neck, now to Rick's hands inside his son's pants.

Morty immediately broke away, turning to his father, with the tachycardia that was making his heart pump very fast, until it hurt.

"D-da--".

"Fucking piece of shit."

Now Jerry was only looking at Rick. Morty had never seen him look like this. He didn't even look like Jerry. Not even that voice had anything to do with his father.

"D-Dad ..." Morty raised his hands, standing between the two and swallowing to be able to speak again.

"I kill you. I'll kill you, you fucking pedophile. "

That word hurt Morty more than any other injury from any adventure had done to him. It paralyzed him, immobilizing him on the spot.

"I’ll kill yo-".

Jerry jerked towards Rick, but a very strong flash dazzled him, making him suddenly fall to the ground.

"NO!" Morty sprang towards the parent, lifeless on the ground and with wide eyes, before the eyelids covered them. Hee put his hands on his shoulders, shaking him and then turning to Rick with shining eyes.

"W-what did you do to him?!"

"Unfortunately, he is perfectly fine." Rick put back a pistol with two round sights in his lab coat pocket. His gaze was colorless, devoid of any expression. Indeed, he seemed almost annoyed, like someone who crushes a fly. Morty's stomach turned.

“I just made him forget these last five minutes. He will sleep for a while. "

Morty looked at Jerry, before getting up, facing him, his eyes stinging, ready to cry. Rick passed him, lowering himself towards Jerry.

"Why?! W-why?! We could explain to him, w-we could- "

"Explain  _ what _ , Morty?" Rick turned to him. His gaze was contemptuous, cold and severe. It was  his gaze again.

Morty was displaced for a moment, before trying to explain himself, stammering more than usual: "T-t-that I... I m-mean, t-t-that we… We…".

Silence fell between the two. Rick looked at him, waiting, as if almost hoping he would say something. Then he shook his head, with a bitter puff, like someone who foresees something, taking Jerry from the armpits.

"You can barely explain it to yourself...".

For the umpteenth time, Rick was right. And Morty hated him, reversing the feelings he was feeling a moment earlier.

“I-it's not r-right, Rick! You can't s-solve things like that! W-we could have talked to him, we c-could have- ".

Rick suddenly released Jerry, getting up and overhanging Morty with an angry and furious look, which made the boy back away.

"I t-talked to a fucking v-virtual version of myself, I-I almost killed myself with alcohol and drugs, I allowed you to remember what happened, I-I even stopped myself when ..." .

Rick stopped, as if remembering something suddenly. Something that annoyed him and led him to grunt with frustration and anger.

"JUST FUCKING TRUST ME!"

Morty felt the sudden tears flow down his cheeks, afraid of Rick, of that blind fury that he always hurled on anyone, without exception, since he knew him. He too was an insect, like Jerry, like anyone, that Rick had simply decided to save because it didn't bother him enough.

He was the pilot fish.

Morty's big eyes, wet with tears, seemed to stop Rick, causing his hand to clench his nose, closing his eyes.

"I know... I know what's better."

Morty felt his lips tremble as he vented the only question that rumbled in his head, begging to be able to get out.

"Better for whom?"

Rick stood for a moment before lowering his hand and opening his eyes again.

He looked at Morty with a mixture of emotions that went from anger, to frustration, to hatred, to disappointment.

He opened the front door without looking back.

"Bring that asshole of your father to the sofa by yourself."

Rick stepped outside, slamming the door behind him. Morty remained motionless, silent, hearing the sound of the spaceship coming out of the garage, quickly leaving the garden.

He looked at Jerry on the ground, as tears continued to flow and Summer's voice returned to disturb him for the last time.

_ "And in case you don't know ... Find it out." _

 

 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as usual to @bloodrunsred for the huge help for the translation, as always! Go read her stories!  
> Thanks to those who have always been following me and those who have started following me recently and with great enthusiasm, like Yusunabi <3 The illustration in the end is hers and I advise everyone to follow her on twitter: https://twitter.com/Yusurelia
> 
> What do you think of the story so far guys? I warn you that the troubles have not yet arrived ...  
> I'm curious to know what is your favorite chapter!  
> A kiss to all and take care in this bad period. Like we say in italian: Andrà tutto bene!


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